The Phantom's Mask
by BlueBeauty
Summary: The Phantom has returned and the granddaughter of Christine finds him in the ruins of the Opera House will love find Erik at last? Or will his past haunt him forever? Completed!
1. The Meeting

A/N: Revised 5/27/04 I added this because I felt that this chapter needed a little more background information...I just corrected some things, and added on to the story a bit for the first chapter. I don't own the story of the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the songs by Andrew Lloyd Webber...I do own Christina and no she is not a Mary Sue! You have to read farther to discover her true nature!  
  
Christine was dead. Erik's body shook with shock. His muscles and bones seemed to move upon their own accord. He was in anguish, but he had to be mindful of how the emotions played across his face since he was in public in the old cemetery. She was being buried atop a lonely hillside. Drops of rain pelted the tiny group. It was fitting for only Christine's closest friends and family to be there. She wouldn't have liked the pompous wealth of Paris to attend such a private affair. Erik drifted out of sight behind the group. He'd caught a glimpse of her before they closed the coffin lid. She was just as he remembered when he last saw her only forty years ago. He knew she had grown older, but age did not affect her wondrous beauty. Her long brown hair was streaked with grey and lay delicately around her pale skin. Her quietly upturned nose and the soft tilt of her chin still gave no small hint to her beauty. Her pale lips looked as if they could smile at any moment. Oh how happy she must have been up with her family in the big manor. He hoped she had been. He dashed a tear away from his eyes. Her precious Vicomte de Changy was flitting around the casket give out occasional tortured moans. Raoul's sweet protector had died. Erik felt a soft wind brush at his black cloak and fedora. The rain was beginning to come down in torrents. He leaned against the rough bark of a nearby willow tree still watching the activities. The priest was muttering prayers over the coffin as it was being lowered into the ground. He heard the resounding sound of the coffin hitting the earth. The older Vicomte was becoming inconsolable now. His cries for his wife Christine were becoming hysterical. Erik had a better control of his emotions, but the urge to pound on the earth and cry up to the heavens and ask why they had taken her the angel on earth away from them, was very tempting. He watched as a girl with blonde curls cascading down her back tried to console the Vicomte. She whispered things in his ear, and patted him softly on the arm. She looked very much like Christine, perhaps a distant relative. A damp dusk was settling around them. Erik fled the cemetery feeling as if his heart would never mend. He recalled her tombstone as he ran.  
  
Christine Daae  
  
The little light of Paris has left and now all is dark  
  
Her voice will live on forever in our hearts...  
  
Erik sighed softly as the rain continued to pour down on him. Those words fitted her. The ominous words on the tombstone was right, her music would live on forever...in his heart.  
  
The darkness of the corridor hid the lonely figure who was slowly playing a mournful tune on his organ. He'd been there for forty long years after Christine had left him. Christine had been his only love other than the shadows in the dim depths under the Opera House. She had brought out the only good in his soul. Now it seemed he was fated to a life forever in the deep hell alone. So be it. Christine would occupy his world forever, even if he went mad he would continue on. Maybe he was mad. The anger in his heart may have suffocated all things good out of him, including his sanity. Candles flickered making the ivory keys on the organ glow. He suddenly stopped playing and turned. He was hearing things again. A beautiful soprano voice floated through the silent depths. Christine appeared. Her eyes were lit with the fire of young dreams. She seemed to dance, swaying with an invisible partner. "It is only a dream," He whispered. He reached out and touched her hand. He felt nothing, only air. So she was a ghost of his memory after all. A younger man slowly appeared. He took her hand and they danced a ballet duet. "Christine!" He cried. Why was she being enchanted by this man? And suddenly she was gone and with her the young man, a ghost, a wisp of memory floating before his eyes. He slumped against the organ, his body pressing against the keys. A horrid sound emerged from the pipes. It sounded strangled.  
  
The mob had come long ago, and in their rage they did not search well enough forty years earlier. He had hidden himself. After their failed attempt to find and murder him they had boarded up every possible way for him to get out of his "prison in the dark". Nothing was impossible for the Phantom of the Opera. Even he could not be chained. He touched the silky white cloth of his mask. They had not taken his last piece of dignity; they had left it where he had placed it, thinking it cursed. In a cruel sort of way he was happy he had let Christine and Raoul go, she would never be happy living in the depths with no light or sun to warm her beautiful face. She had been like a flower. She would have wilted and died with out real light that not even candles could not give. His twisted lips curled into a smile, at least a ghost of a smile. "Christine...Christine" He whispered. "My love,"  
  
The Opera House was in shambles now, it had closed. No one in Paris dared to cross him. They did not even wish to truly believe he was dead. So after a failed attempt to show a new Opera they packed everything up and left.  
  
An auction had been held and he had seen Christine's lover. Raoul in a wheel chair had been clutching onto the memories he had purchased. He was confined with old age, while he the Phantom lived on with youth. Erik would have rather traded his life for Raoul's in a wheel chair. Even though Christine was dead Raoul still carried with him the memories of forty years with his love. All Erik had was forty years of darkness and loneliness.  
  
He had a sudden urge to see the Opera House once more, and climbed a forgotten stair to the stage. It was dark, but he held his candle up high to create an eerie glow. The boards creaked with age. The ragged material on the seats had been chewed by mice, and rats. The once magnificent room was reduced to humiliating shambles. The gold edging on the ceilings, and floor had been torn away by thieves, but they would be disappointed. The owner had been stingy, the gold was only paint. A sudden sound caused him to fly back into the shadows and blow out his candle. Footsteps could be heard. Just one pair of feet was making that small sound. A girl...no a young woman appeared. She was holding a cane which she used to make sure nothing in front of her would cause her to fall, or trip. In the dim light of the candle she was holding in her left hand he could make out the features of her face. Long golden blonde hair lay in curls around her shoulders, unfashionable, but beautiful. She was well dressed, in a lovely blue dress that accented her figure, and made her eyes glow. Her eyes! How she looked like Christine! "Christine," A voice floated in the darkness.  
  
He hadn't realized he'd said his love's name out loud. The young woman shuddered and stepped back a few steps.  
  
"Who is there?" She called, her voice trembled. He withdrew further in to the wings. "Come out!" She cried. The silence was frightening her. "Please...," She whispered. The silence continued. She cursed her blindness. How she longed to be able to see... and to search out the maker of the noise she had heard. Silence answered her. Suddenly Erik recognized her. She was the girl who had comforted the Vicomte at Christine's funeral a month ago. After a moment she continued her exploration of the Opera House. She ran her fingers along the dilapidated rail separating the aisles. She steadied herself, almost tripping on a stair. She grasped her cane tightly. It was her guide, because she was blind. She breathed in the stale smell of rotting carpets, and decaying seats. The Opera House was not what it once was. The grandeur had faded, and she could tell just be using her fingers to be her eyes. She touched everything to let her know where she was in the Opera House. She had heard about this place ever since she was a child old enough to not get terribly frightened over the old stories. She knew in perfect detail the layout of the Opera House, she'd heard the stories so often. But her grandmother had never allowed her to visit the Opera House, and her grandfather had not wavered on the subject either. But now things were different. Oh so different! She felt her way down to the edge of the stage. Her knee bumped into stairs leading up to the massive stage. She carefully climbed them, wary of rotten boards. This wasn't exactly the best place to explore. She did not know that someone was watching her from the shadows.  
  
Erik kept himself hidden in the shadows. He had nothing to fear from her seeing him, since obviously she was blind, but he had heard that blind people had excellent hearing. He dared not move for fear of being discovered. He watched as the young woman carefully stepped onto the stage using the cane to go ahead of her as her eyes. He edged a few steps farther back into the darkness as she came closer in his direction. His heart would not calm down. It beat rapidly in his chest. She was now so close to him that if she reached out her hand she could have touched him. Suddenly after a moment of consideration she change directions, and headed downstage. He realized he had been holding his breath. He silently watched her stand still in the middle of the stage, as if she was gazing out over the ruins. He was sure that she was imagining the grandeur of what once was.  
  
"Are you the Phantom?" She whispered turning back around. Erik stood in shock. He dared not breathe a word. How in the world did she know he had been standing there? If the world knew that the Phantom still lived...but wait...who would believe a frail blind girl with a "wild imagination"? He smiled darkly. This might be amusing...  
  
Christina had known there was someone in the wings on the stage only by chance. She had heard his foot slide back against the dusty floor. It was faint, but when you were blind for several years you tended to develop other senses to make up for it. But when he first spoke to her it startled her!  
  
"Legend," He said. His voice echoed out in the vast space of the empty aging Opera House. "Legend or myth if you'll have it. Everyone knows the stories, any drunken fool wandering around in the dark in this place could be the Phantom" He scoffed.  
  
"Then you are the Phantom?" She said softly.  
  
"I might be," The answer was returned. "Why do you seek out a man who is supposedly cursed, or does seeing mangled flesh excite you young one,"  
  
"Never," She looked taken aback by his question. Then she tilted her head.  
  
"Than it is true, he is marred,"  
  
"Marred?" The question quivered in the air like an arrow hitting a target. "Or cursed? Why would the gods give him his twisted face?"  
  
"We are all troubled with adversities, good sir," She leaned heavily on her cane as if willing herself not to drop in a faint to the floor.  
  
"Adversities?!" The word was flung at her from seemingly everywhere at once she shrank back in fear. "Why would one man be faced with so many? What possessed someone to create a being so hideous people would shriek and rant and rave at how ugly and horrible one face could be!!" He shouted. She was shaking violently.  
  
"I would not," She replied bravely trying to calm her shattered nerves.  
  
"We shall see," The voice was quieter this time. He paused. "What is your name?" He said finally.  
  
"Christina, well...that is not my real name, Christine is my real name... I...I was named after my grandmother. My grandpapa just calls me Christina,"  
  
"Your grandmother is...dead then,"  
  
"She died only just this...this past month," Her voice shook with emotion. The voice was silent for a moment. "My grandpapa is lying sick in bed, he says he can not live without her by his side," She bowed her head. "And now...I shall lose him as well,"  
  
"You loved them?"  
  
"Their children, my mother and uncle both died when I was six in a carriage accident, my father died when I was seven. They have raised me; I love them more than anything,"  
  
"And are you as much as a singer as she was?"  
  
"My grandmother said I sing like an angel, and that her teacher would have been pleased. In the end while she lay waiting for death, she asked me to ease her pain by singing; she died with a smile on her face," Christina spoke humbly. He could tell she was not proud of her vocal accomplishments. In fact it seemed like she despised them.  
  
"Her teacher, what was he like?" The voice inquired.  
  
"My grandmother always got a faraway look in her eye when she told me the stories of when she was a singer at the old Opera House. Of the treachery and deceit of her teacher otherwise known as the Phantom of the Opera,"  
  
"She described him well then," The voice said sadly. "For that is what he is,"  
  
"She said more about him than just that. How he had locked himself away... away from the pain of looking at himself in the mirror, or hearing shrieks of horror. And then he fell in love, with her. She hated making anyone feel betrayed, but the Phantom had been wrong trying to keep her and Raoul apart. Since then she has always thought of her old teacher, I could see emotion well up into her eyes when she talked of him," Christina smiled into the darkness, facing the many seats and balconies that were out beyond the stage. "Will you reveal yourself to me, now? For I have told you some of my past, but I have yet to see your face or hear your story," She said to the silence.  
  
"Soon," The voice whispered. Christina heard no more for many minutes so she left. Erik watched as she slowly walked down the middle row up the stairs, and out into the dark foyer to face the world beyond the dark theater. 


	2. All I Ask Of You

A/N: I appreciate the reviews, and am deeply sorry for the grammar issues! One matter to be cleared up that seems to cause confusion, Erik has inherited some kind of eternal youth (totally thrown in there just to keep him a romance interest, but we all love Erik and we want him to fall in love and be loved don't we so hang in there please) so he is still middle aged when he meets Christina who is blind. So please review this story, thanks for all the comments I've gotten. Good or bad I need the help.  
  
Christina's heart pounded as she searched for the handle to open the ancient door to the deserted street. Daylight warmed her face when she finally got the door opened. Why did she have to be blind? This section of town was rarely used, no one wanted to be by the famous ghost riddled Opera House. Her shoes clacked on the stone street as she leaned on her cane trying desperately to find out where she was. She had a good sense of direction, but in her state of panic she was frantic to find a landmark of some sort. She was out of breath, before she found her carriage and driver who was standing just over the hill and told them to rush home as soon as possible. She could never reveal her secret trip to the old Opera House to her grandpapa; he would lash out in anger. He had told her never to go there. He did not want to lose her like he almost lost his wife, but her grandmother's last dying wish was to know if the Phantom still lived. She knew all of the stories about the Phantom; her grandmother had not left out any details as she described the Opera House as it had once been, and the trip down to the Phantom's lair. The man she had been talking to in the Opera House might have well been the Phantom her grandmother had told her about, it had scared her to be talking to someone connected with her grandmother's past. She had to find out whether it was really the Phantom or not, she felt she would not be complete until she had heard the truth for her Grandmother Christine's sake. The carriage rattled as the wheels bumped over rocks and shook her out of her thoughts. They were almost to her grandfather's large estate a little outside of France. He was wealthy, but unhappy since his wife had died. The funeral had been held on one of the dreariest days in March, with the rain pouring down on them as they whispered their goodbyes. It had been just her, her grandpapa, and the priest. They had not wanted any snobby well-wishers or gold diggers there. Her grandmother had been too good for that. Her blue eyes had shone when she was happy, or twinkled with merriment when she was planning a surprise. She gave away money to poor beggar children who had no bread to put in their families mouths. Her grandmother had been a wonderful person. And now she was dead, buried with memories she had kept with her throughout her life. Christina wiped away another rogue tear. She had to pursue her grandmother's past; it was all she could do to keep her alive in her heart.  
  
The Phantom sat at the organ his fingers playing a tune of their own. His mind was elsewhere. How Christina had possessed so much of her grandmother. Christine's light reflected through every pore of the young lady that had stood trembling on the stage. If she did not return he would find her, only to talk to her, only to bring back the memories of his old love. He would not reveal his identity until he was certain of her character. He was almost sure she was not some fainty damsel, her resolve and kindness had shone through. Just like Christine. The name echoed through his empty cavernous heart that had longed for something so long. He played on through the night, without stopping to rest. He needed an answer to his question that had been bothering him for ninety years. He had not grown old; he looked as if he was still twenty nine. He did not feel old, maybe his heart had longed for love for such a long time that it had kept him in that state until he found it, so he could resume growing old. He was the Phantom; maybe the title had been flung on him without care by the person who gave him the burden of looking hideous. He had haunted the Opera House for many long lonely years, and now he was tired. The weariness seemed to press harder every day, his heart was tired of the wait, and so was he.  
The Phantom sensed her presence even before she entered his lair only a few short weeks later. He knew she was coming. He beat a spine tingling emotionless sound on his organ. He hoped it would frighten her away. Like Christine, she would rip his mask away and revel what he truly was...a monster, an unfeeling looking demon. Her footsteps echoed on the slightly damp floors as she came closer to where he sat. "Good evening," She whispered.  
  
"Good evening," He echoed. He did not look back, but still played his song on the organ. He finally turned letting the final note of his piece slowly die away. His mask seemed to glow by the candlelight.  
  
"So you have found me at last," "My grandmother never left out any detail about where you took her that night Erik," Christina said firmly, it was true, even though she was blind she could feel her way around using the directions her grandmother had given her.  
  
"Ah...you believe me to be the Phantom,"  
  
"Yes," Christina said. Her grandmother had talked of his eyes, of how they looked like bottomless pools of black acid, bubbling...waiting...to swallow you whole.  
  
"You have found me out; it is I the infamous killer. Are you happy? Now you can reveal to the world that I really am still living,"  
  
"No one knows I have come here," She cringed at his sardonic tone.  
  
"You didn't go and tell your Grandfather?" Laughter erupted from him. "Then you are extremely foolish! What makes you think I won't try to steal you away for myself like I have tried before with Christine?"  
  
"Once he dies... I will have no one else who loves me... it does not matter what happens to me," Christina carefully choose her words. He regarded her with interested.  
  
"No friends to take you in at all?"  
  
"No, my life has been secluded, and quiet,"  
  
"Your eyes are dark, you are blind," He asked just now noticing the clouded way her blue eyes looked. How could he have missed the signs before?  
  
"Yes," She answered. He noticed her cane, and how she leaned on it. It was her protector in a way.  
  
"How did you become so?"  
  
"A horse riding accident when I was twelve," Her voice grew hard.  
  
"Poor child," His voice echoed in the lonely room sending a chill down her spine. His eyes looked her over. "You look just like her," He abruptly changed the subject.  
  
"Many say I do,"  
  
He studied her for a moment. "Let me hear you sing," "W...what?" He caught her off guard. "Oh no, please...I haven't sung since she died...,"  
  
"I have long played after she left me; we can over come our adversities... Sing!" He ordered.  
  
"Play a tune than!" She said defensively. He wasn't going to push her around. He whipped his black cloak around and sat back at the organ. His fingers nimbly played his chosen song. When she did not sing he looked back at her. Her eyes grew wide with recognition.  
  
"Surely your grandmother taught you this? It is what she sang when she betrayed me," The Phantom mocked her. She stood stiffly as if bracing against something unseen. Christina did remember. Her grandparents had sung it to each other on each anniversary. The Phantom's voice rang out cruel and intentionally rough as he sang. She covered her ears, dropping her cane as he twisted the love song, like metal scraping against metal. It was though all the winds in the entire world were blowing...howling... making a horrible storm that wouldn't seem to stop.  
  
No more talk of darkness,  
Forget these wide-eyed fears;  
I'm here, nothing can harm you,  
My words will warm and calm you.  
  
She couldn't bear what he was doing. It was as if all the pain that the Phantom had dealt with over the long endless years was coming out in the form of the song. She was on her knees now tears streaming down her face as he continued, playing on his organ all the while.  
Let me be your freedom,  
Let daylight dry your tears;  
I'm here, with you, beside you,  
To guard you and to guide you.  
  
Say you love me every waking moment,  
Turn my head with talk of summertime.  
Say you need me with you now and always;  
Promise me that all you say is true,  
That's all I ask of you.  
  
"STOP! Stop it, please!" She cried out. "You'll make me go mad!" She wept. Suddenly the noise subsided, and he was beside her.  
  
"Don't you see child that was what it was like, coming from your grandmother's lips. A betrayal, a knife. There she stood telling...that fool! That she loved him! She did not know what true love was! Young passion burning in that man's heart was not....Love!" He whispered angrily in her ear.  
  
"My grandfather loved my grandmother more than anything; he has shown more love than you have shown in your entire life! Killing does not count ERIK!" She shouted, and turned her face away. He remained silent for a moment. She felt a whoosh of air as if he was going to strike her. He grabbed her wrist instead holding it tightly. What would he do to her? "Please...let me go...I must go," She cried frantically, trying to twist away from him. Her blonde hair lay streaming down her back, it had come loose from the neat bun it had been in only a few minutes before. Her dress was dirty, and ripped in one place. Her eyes...her eyes were what got to him. They were wide and red from crying, a deep blue like the calm sea.  
  
"Leave then, I will not stop you," He looked away he let her arm fall. She scrambled away searching for her cane, when she had found it she ran from him. He heard her slip and fall once, but then he heard no more. 


	3. The Memory

Tears streaked down Christina's face as she left the Opera House behind. The image of the Phantom lingered in her mind. Her blind eyes could not see him, but yet she knew his face. Her grandmother had described it in perfect detail. There he was in all the ruin, playing on into the night. He had haunted her dreams ever since she had met him. Had Christine ever felt this way? The Phantom had killed out of love for Christine, clearing a path for her career. Her grandmother had described him more unyielding and devious than what the Phantom had seemed like each time she had talked with him. Maybe the years after her grandmother had softened him just a little. Whatever reason, she could not just leave him down there, all alone with just his music.  
Christina had not been back for a month. A long month. Each day he had waited for her, but she had not returned. He knew he had frightened her badly, but her last remark about him and love was a wound to his pride. He was loosing hope that she would ever come back. What was hope? Something the weak relied on? He had never relied on hope to see him through his life. It had always been his wits, his cunning. What now? What now...? He paced the silent floor. His hands went to his mask. He never took it off for fear of someone discovering him. Christina would not have to worry about seeing him, she was blind. Wait...she reminded him of someone...his mind drifted back to his old world as a sideshow...  
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Look what I have here! See the savage boy! Come see him! Very cheap, very cheap! Just step right here and give me a coin!" The man standing on the crudely built platforms said. "Now no screaming, it frightens the brute!" He warned the glove tipped ladies who placed a coin in his palm.  
  
"I'm made of tougher stuff than that good sir," One lady protested. Laughter flooded through crowd at her statement.  
  
"We'll see! We'll see!" The man nodded smiling with his gold capped teeth shining with spittle. His clothes were filthy with travel, and his purse empty. He had spent it on beer or the pleasure of a woman's company. Now he had joined up with a couple of gypsy's who ran a small circus in the countryside. They made a good little sum of money each event. People came from everywhere, mostly farmers and their children looking for a bit of entertainment from their plain lives. When all who wished to see the boy had paid, the filthy man ushered them back into a dark tent. They could make out a small cage in the dim lighting.  
  
"When I light this candle," The man whispered. "The boy'll wake up! No one screams!" He warned. He glanced sternly at the ladies and small children. He pulled a match out of his coat pocket with a dramatic flair and lit his candle. The audience gasped. They could now see a small figure hidden in a blanket in the far corner of the cage.  
  
"Erik!" Prodded a gypsy who was crouching outside the cage by the huddled figure. He had been told to say threats if the boy did not perform. "Ya want supper now don't you? Come on then!" The gypsy shoved his hands between the bars and pushed Erik out from under the blanket. Some of the ladies jerked back. He kneeled, his eyes closed, face upwards. The candle only lit the small boy's neck; the man was waiting for the most dramatic moment to reveal him.  
  
"And now Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you the Monster!!" He flung the light upward and glow that was cast off from the candle showed what the audience had feared. Women screamed, some fainted. Men hustled the small children away from the terrifying sight. Erik's breath left him, his chest seemed hollow. Emotions hit him all at once, anger, fear, and resentment. Why had his mother left him to such a horrible hell-like fate? He was only a boy. Why did he have to grow up so fast??! He lay prostrate on the floor of his prison. Everyone had left him, including his captor, and the gypsy. Once he had gathered enough people again, he would repeat the humiliating process over, and over again. Sobs wrenched through the small boy's frame. "Mama!" He cried. "Mama!" Fury suddenly seized him and he was up and shaking the bars of his cage. "Let me out! Let me out! Please!" The cries brought no one to his aid. He knocked his head against the iron bars and fell back. He felt blood trickled down his mutilated face. He reached up and wiped it away. He was defeated. They had won...  
  
"Daddy?" A small voice called. A girl had wandered into the tent. She looked to be about his age, only eight. Her curly auburn hair shone with consistent brushing, and her dresses were plain, but looked well cared for and ironed.  
  
"Daddy!" The girl was getting worried. Erik hid his face behind the ragged blanket he had. She reached out as if she was looking for something, and then suddenly her hands connected with the iron bars of the cage. She jerked back as the cold metal touched her skin. Then with a curious interest she reached back to touch the bars.  
  
"What's this?" She asked out loud to no one in particular.  
  
"A cage," Erik's voice echoed. He hadn't meant to say anything! "Can't you see that," He added softly.  
  
"No, I'm blind," She said a matter-of-factly. He looked more closely and noticed her green eyes were clouded with grey. She was blind. He dropped the blanket and walked over to her.  
  
"Where are you?" Her head tilted to the sound of his footsteps. "In the cage,"  
  
"Why??" She asked anxiously. "Do you need help? Did you get trapped in here? When I find daddy I'll ask him to get you out!"  
  
"No," He shook his head. "I'm better off in a cage,"  
  
"Why," She looked to where she thought his voice was coming from.  
  
"They say I'm a monster,"  
  
"You're just a little boy!"  
  
"Even little boys can be monsters," He said sadly. His hand touched his face, and instantly he felt the same repulsive feeling he'd felt many times before when he touched his face.  
  
"May I see?"  
  
"How," He scoffed.  
  
"Come here," She ordered.  
  
"No," Suddenly he was scared. What kind of magic could she use to see him if she was blind, and if she could see would she scream too?  
  
"I won't hurt you," She said gently.  
  
He inched forward, still uncertain of what to do. Before he knew what was happening her hand found an opening through the bars and had rested on his own hand. "I can't see you with my eyes, but I can see with my hands," She said softly. She waited as if asking permission, and then slowly offered her hand. He gently grasped her fingers and placed them gingerly on the hideous side of his face. She flinched only a little as she felt the bumps and ridges, and the wet feeling of rotting flesh. Erik trembled with fear. She did not draw back as he had expected, but her hand gently went over his whole face, exploring every detail. When she was done her hand dropped back at her side.  
  
"You are beautiful," She whispered. "I don't know why they think you a monster,"  
  
"How could you think that?" He asked in wonderment.  
  
"I cannot see, but that doesn't mean my soul is blind, I see you are kind, and gentle on the inside. No one can be that way and be a monster. If all they do is shriek at you and call you horrible, they aren't looking past the way you look, they aren't looking at the real you," She said.  
  
"Emilie!" A man's voice called. "Emilie," He sounded worried.  
  
"That is my papa... I shall never forget you," She rushed away, her cane going before her to check for any holes in the ground as she ran towards her father's voice. The feel of her soft hand on his face stayed with him, and helped him to sleep through the night with no nightmares about his mother... 


	4. Alone

A/N: Thank-you for all the reviews! Keep them coming, I need the constructive criticism. When I originally wrote this story it was for a friend, so I couldn't add the detail I wanted because I had to give it to her five days after I began writing. So now I'm going back and adding some stuff I have thought of after I gave it to her....confusing, but anyways ya'll get to read it so that's good.  
  
Raoul fingered the pages of Christine's favorite book of poems. It had yellowed with age. He had grown older, too. His black hair had turned from grey to white. His beard was still resistant to growing older and had small hairs of grey buried beneath the white. His eyesight was failing him. Now he knew how helpless Christina felt with her blindness. He glanced over the words from the poem, already knowing them by heart. Christina entered the darkened room. The heavy curtains had been drawn shut.  
  
"Grandpapa," She said in a whispered tone.  
  
"Yes, my dear," He closed the book carefully. He sat up slightly in the massive bed. The light from candles sitting on tables and shelves burned brightly enough to light the words of the book he was reading.  
  
"I came to say goodnight," Her tone seemed distant. Her eyes even though blind still looked as if she was in deep thought.  
  
"Goodnight my granddaughter," He said gently.  
  
"Sleep well," She returned the greeting.  
  
"Is something troubling you?" He asked finally when she stayed in the room.  
  
"No," She lied. She still even now days after felt the cold hands of the Phantom around her wrist. It seemed as though he had burned his memory into her flesh. He had left no marks, but only mental anguish.  
  
"Go to sleep dear," He urged. "You look tired,"  
  
"I will," She smiled.  
  
Christina turned over in bed. Her eyes opened, but all she saw was darkness. Darkness was her world; it had always been her world since the accident. She felt around for her dressing gown, and pulled it on. The clock chimed its deep sound tolling the hour. It was almost dawn. She found her favorite chair by the large window in her bedroom, and sat down. She kept having dreams. Dreams about him...about Erik. They awoke her at all times of the night. She sighed heavily. Her grandpapa's health was leaving him. He would die, and then she would be all alone. The only place she could go to get away from the wealth and the upper class depression was to the depths of the Opera House with Erik. His act of letting her go sincerely surprised her. She thought he would imprison her forever because of her rash remarks. And now she wished she could get close to him somehow. Maybe in all the years he lived there he had grown to enjoy being alone. She shuddered. Alone was a scary place to be.  
A cold draft had entered the dark room where Erik sat at his organ. Another leak had probably found a crack in the roof of the Opera House. He had not composed a song in many years, not since Christine. The music had left his soul. All was quiet. Where there once had been flame of passion for music was until now, nothing...nothing, but insane notes blasting from his only instrument. Ever since he'd met Christina the granddaughter of his original love, an idea had gnawed at him in back of his mind. An idea to compose. His fingers settled on the keys, and with new resolve he began to play.  
Christina rose for breakfast out of her chair the next morning, where she had sat unmoving for hours. She had another rough night. Life would go on without her, so she must run and catch up to it. She could not dread the future. If her grandpapa died, she would move on. She sat in a chair at the breakfast table with the gentle help of an old servant. He couldn't believe how beautiful a picture Christina made. Why wasn't she married yet? Her long blonde hair had been brushed of its tangles and was in a braid down her back. She still wore her silky white dressing gown, one she had inherited from her grandmother, it was very old. It smelled of the French perfume that her grandmother had gotten on her birthday one year.  
  
"Miss!" The doctor who had tended to her grandpapa during his illness entered the dining hall. "Your grandfather, he is requesting you," The doctor's face looked grave. Christina's heart leapt up in her throat. Not now! Please not now!  
  
"Grandpapa," She gasped as she rushed into the room.  
  
"My child," He greeted slowly, his strength was being sapped from him.  
  
"Sleep now, please rest. Save your strength,"  
  
"I'm sorry I must leave you...now,"  
  
"You're not going anywhere," She said strongly, gripping his hand.  
  
"Why are the relatives of the dying always in denial?" Raoul questioned a smile playing slowly on his lips.  
  
"Because they are not willing to let them go, and neither am I," She whispered, a tear coursing down her cheek. He wiped it away.  
  
"I love you Christina. I am sorry I cannot leave you in the care of someone," He frowned.  
  
"I will manage," She smiled sadly.  
  
"I won't be happy without you in this big manor, alone,"  
  
"Christina," He grasped her hand. "My dear, be well, and find someone to love. Life isn't worth anything without love,"  
  
"I think I have found it, grandpapa," She said, surprising even herself.  
  
"Is he honorable?" Her grandfather raised his eyebrows.  
  
"He will be," She smiled softly.  
  
"A woman can change a man's heart," Her grandfather brushed her cheek with his hand. "My dear, I'll feel so...tired," He whispered.  
  
"Rest then," She smiled. "Or shall I read to you, you loved that book of poems Grandmamma gave you for your birthday last year,"  
  
"No...just sit with me," He held her hand. "You're more than enough,"  
  
"Oh," She sighed. She sat quietly for a moment. "Grandpapa...I have a question to ask you,"  
  
"Yes my child,"  
  
"About the Phantom, why do you hate him so?"  
  
"Have I communicated that to you?" He asked his eyes full of pain.  
  
"Why no...but I assumed...all the stories Grandmamma told me,"  
  
"It is not true. I do not hate him. I pity him,"  
  
"Pity?"  
  
"Erik has known nothing, but sorrow his entire life. He has lost his family, been shown as a monster at a circus, and been rejected by everyone he's known. A man can take only so much. That does not excuse his actions my dear," He said wisely.  
  
"I understand," She nodded.  
  
"I am glad; you are wise for your age, my darling," His steel blue eyes flashed with resistance. He couldn't leave his granddaughter alone, but death and Christine was calling him home.  
  
"I love you," Christina whispered sensing the end.  
  
"As do I my sweet girl," They gazed at each other, Raoul was satisfied he had said enough to keep Christina content without him after he was gone; he spoke no more for a long while. "Goodbye Christina," He finally whispered. She grabbed his hand a clasped it to her heart.  
  
"No grandpapa, no!" She cried. Tears slipped down her face unchecked. He squeezed her hand tightly, and then she felt his hand slowly relax. He had given in. His last breath had been hard-won. His eyes closed. She sobbed and laid her head into his chest. "Grandpapa!" She cried. The servants and the doctor retreated into another part of the manor. They could hear her gut wrenching sobs; each realized her pain as if it was their own. Their mistress was alone.  
  
Erik suddenly had an overwhelming feeling. Like a star had fallen from the sky. He stopped playing for a moment. The feeling settled in his heart. Something had happened. What? He searched his mind. Something had gone terribly wrong. 


	5. The Silence Speaks

A/N: I have one question what is this Mary-Sue issue I keep seeing? Somebody please explain. I'm new to Fan Fiction so I need some help on the history of this. bubonic woodchuck: I'm afraid this sounds like a Mary-Sue. So somebody please explain. LOL help this confused person!!  
  
There were only two people standing on the windswept hill in the country-side of France. Christina listened as the Priest said his holy prayers over the dead. Her grandmother was buried here, and so her grandfather was resting by her side once more. The new marble headstone was beautifully carved by the finest craftsman France could produce. Her grandfather would have liked it. It was a day after his death, and Christina had wanted the funeral over as soon as possible so she could move on. You never really fully recover, though. It was like having a big quilt that you loved, and then suddenly with no warning the two patches in the center are torn out. The quilt is ruined. Christina felt ripped and torn to shreds in her heart. She slowly walked away from the gravesite after the Priest was done. She was a vision in black once more and would be for a long time. Two deaths in a year were more than she could take. The fall leaves from the willow trees and other trees crunched under her feet as she walked. Winter would arrive soon. Her face was a picture of grief, ashen grey. Her eyes were dulled with pain. Her heart was in worse shape. Imagine a piece of glass falling to the floor and it breaking, shards going everywhere. That was Christina's heart. It was broken.  
Erik had written down some of his music on paper with a quill and ink. He'd been up all night working. Most of the ink had gotten on the keys of the organ, and had been smeared all over the keys by his persistent playing. He heard footsteps and the familiar sound of a cane striking the stone ground with a hollow sound to it. He watched her enter. She was beautiful, but why was she in black? A black mourning veil covered her entire face, and reached down to her waist. She wore a black dress with long silky sleeves, and a drawn in bodice. The skirt was full, and many layers of cloth lay underneath the top skirt. "Hello," His voice rang out as he rose to greet her. Her back was bent with signs of weariness, and her face was pale. Her eyes were streaming with tears.  
  
"What is amiss?" He wondered out loud. She came only a few steps toward him, wondering how she should share her grief with him. Would the man who had shunned every shun her?  
  
"He has finally died," Her voice came out wobbly and coated with emotion. Christina sank down to the floor, she felt tears sliding down her cheek, suddenly there was a warm hand wiping them gently away. He pressed a handkerchief into her palm . "Here," He murmured. He raised her carefully to her feet as if she was a china doll. Was this the Phantom of the Opera? The infamous killer? Being kind? She caught her breath. She felt him looking down at her. She tried to raise her eyes as if looking into his. All she could see was darkness.  
  
"Don't cry," He whispered in her ear.  
  
"It has been a long night," She cried. She had not slept last night or the night before and she was weary to the bone with sorrow.  
  
"After night comes the day, and a glorious sunrise," He smiled looking down at her. "What if I don't know how to face it, Erik?"  
  
"You won't have to face it alone," His voice left him.  
  
"Why are you being nice to me?" She queered stepping back from him.  
  
"After many years I have realized that with only the shadows and the dark music I have played, they don't make good friends,"  
  
"You've changed,"  
  
"Change, is a relative term," Erik said. Then suddenly he went away from her. The spell seemed broken. He was gruff again.  
  
"I must go," She sensing his mood. She had "imposed" too much on his kindness.  
  
"Good night Christina," He whispered as she left.  
  
She had left him for many hours. So there he had sat at his organ. He was silently looking at a nearby candle. It flickered and waved, driven by some unknown wind. He felt as though a piece of music was in the flame waiting to be discovered in some way. Then he heard it echoing as if inside his heart the song he had sang to Christine that night they had traveled to his lair. The ghost seemed to whisper the words.  
  
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation  
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses  
  
His breath left him as though sucked from his chest by an unknown source. Christine.... Christine! Would she ever cease to haunt him? Just when he thought she was gone from his mind and that he had moved on she came back with her beautiful form and voice to taunt him.  
  
Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor  
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender  
Turn your face away from the garish light of day  
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light  
And listen to the music of the night  
  
The voice seemed to whisper in low tones as the words swirled around him.  
  
Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams  
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before  
Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar  
And you'll live as you've never lived before.  
  
"NO!" He shouted. He leapt off the bench which toppled over with a dreadful crack on the stone. The voice did not wish to stop, but it died away. The silence had returned, quiet and heavy. He kneeled down, driven down by his heavy heart. Christine was gone, and in her place had come Christina. But oh how his soul long for Christine's arms to around him and his lips on hers once more. Their final kiss had stayed with him through the years. They had been wrenched away by the fates, and then the fates had seen it fit to give him back a tiny piece of his heart. The knowledge that Christine had died in the arms of her family had given him a little peace in his madness. He felt as if the storms of his life would not end. They were blowing, beating on him like he was the object of the hate of the entire world. "Why?!" He shouted at the silence. There was no answer. His soul was tortured, would there be no PEACE!?!  
Winter winds blew dead leaves around Christina's feet. She was leaning against a tree, a shawl around her. Her hair was up in a strict bun; her eyes were dry for the first time in many months. Her skirts were being played with by wind from the cloudy sky. Snow would fall in France. It would cover her grandparent's graves. A snow had already covered her heart. She had known not to go to Erik for comfort, but she had done it anyways. Her heart would not give up on him. It was an endless quest, one she would never win. Erik was done with life, or so it seemed. He was a cursed man. He had lived for so long without growing older; he was still a middle aged man. She did not know how she would be able to go through life that way. Being cursed was an inhumane way to live. She had not been back to see him in a long while. A break had been what she needed. She had needed to get away from his brooding dark spirit. Now she felt she could go back, and not feel weighed down by the heaviness that seemed to linger in the lair... 


	6. Facing Demons

A/N: Just a note to those who don't like "the other woman" stories. I don't quite like them either, but as I was writing this I realized Erik couldn't just be left hanging so I had to think of something to leave him happy. I don't care for Raoul Bashers and I wanted Raoul to be happy and to have had a good life with Christine even though their children died. So I guess to solve the dilemma I gave Erik back Christine in a way, through her granddaughter Christina. Each one of us carries something from our parents and grandparents so I gave him a woman who was the same, but different than Christine. That way Erik would not the reject the intruder in his lair. How could he when he felt a strange connection to her already? Ok well to sum everything up, I tried to make everyone in this story happy in the end. I'm sorry, but I don't see the point of reading a story and then not having a good ending to wrap everything up...lol....all right back to the story.....  
  
Erik was still on the floor, his hand balled into a tight fist. It was bleeding from the force in which he had exerted pounding on the stone floor. He didn't know how long he had been there, maybe a day? His mind would not clear. It was blurred with things that happened in the past. Thoughts of Christine and his mother were his usual musings, but this time they seemed more painful than usual. Maybe if he remembered everything the pain would eventually fade, rather than burying it all in his mind. He steeled himself against the pain and let his mind wander back ....  
  
"Oh Erik!" His mother shrieked in horror. "Put it back on!" She gasped. He had taken his mask off to give his mother a proper kiss goodnight. A kiss she had always refused to give. Was it his mask? Why did she make him wear it? He had never seen his face for his mother had smashed and removed all of them from the house. She made him close his eyes whenever he was by a pond which was rare since she hardly ever let him go outside.  
  
"Mama?" He asked in his five year old innocence. "Mama what is frightening you?"  
  
"PUT IT BACK ON!" She ordered picking up the forgotten mask from the floor and shoving it into his arms. She turned away from him and ran into her small room and slammed the door. He could hear her sobbing from behind the heavy door. His little heart broke, what did he do to cause his mama such pain? He hurriedly placed the mask back into place. His dark brown hair settled over the mask in its usual curls framing the mask. He ran over his mama's bedroom and knocked quietly on the door. It opened slowly. He saw his mother's face. It was streaked with tears and pale. His mother's eyes were not softened by pity this time, though. They were full of resolve and hatred and she was looking right at him.  
  
"Mama?" Erik said and she rushed past him. When he grabbed her skirts to stop her she flung her hand back and knocked him to the floor. He looked fearfully at where she was hurrying to.  
  
"Erik, I have to leave," She said frantically opening the door.  
  
"No Mama! Please!" He said panic rising in his throat.  
  
"Erik I have to go!" She said shaking her head. Why was she leaving! What had he done???  
  
"Someone is coming for you to take care of you. I have to leave you here. Wait for the man!"  
  
"But why!" He wasn't crying out with questions anymore, they were cries for mercy from the fate she was leaving him to.  
  
"I...I just have too!" She closed the door behind her and he heard the key turn as she locked the door.  
  
Erik felt tears run down his face. The memory was all to clear and it angered him how his mother left him there to face the gypsies. She had been the one who had made a deal with them to take him away. Now he was no longer a problem for her, she was free of him.  
  
Erik's head snapped back with the force of the blow against his cheek. He felt blood run into his mouth as the gypsy slapped him. He had not preformed that day as they had asked...no...demanded him to. So he was being punished. His mask had been ripped from him when he had arrived then and now he had been forced into the cage the gypsies said would be his home for a long time. His desolation and abandonment was completely and utterly a horrible feeling. He was defeated. He clung to the bars of the cage feeling the metal's coldness seep into his hands. Now he would become a sideshow. He was a monster to be spat at, to be screamed at, and to be hated above all. He felt the tender skin of the "ugly" side of his face. Tears rushed down his face. He had never felt the comforting arms of his mother or from a person who cared about what would happen to him. When would this end?  
  
More and more scenes from his horrible past flashed through his mind. He swallowed the bile hoping he would not retch. The final demon he had to fight with was here. His final scene with Christine. His love....  
  
They had stood here for hours it seemed. In truth only a few minutes had passed. Raoul stood across from him, his eyes lifted in a silent plea of mercy. Christine's eyes were wide with terror. His Punjab lasso was around Raoul's neck with a frightening tightness. Coldness had enveloped Erik. When had he become so much like the men who had wronged him?  
  
"Please Erik!" Christine cried out. Her voice made him tremble, but he did not show it.  
  
"You must choose Christine," He said coldly. "If you choose him he dies, and you live with his blood on you head forever. A lover's curse of course. If you choose me, we immediately wed and you live forever with me below the surface, and he goes free," He said.  
  
"No I cannot choose!" She was frightened, and he could hear the shaking in her voice.  
  
"Please!" She pleaded. Raoul had closed his eyes, and was swallowing repeatedly to get rid of the sensation of the Punjab Lasso around his neck.  
  
"Choose," Erik ordered. His voice booming. She shuddered. Raoul stood straighter for some reason, as if he was accepting his final doom.  
  
"Leave Christine, I don't care what happens to me!" He pleaded with her. He was filled with the fire and passion of a foolish young man.  
  
"NO!" She cried. "Erik! Why do you wish me to have to choose between men that I love!" He remained silent for a moment.  
  
"I can't Christine," Erik whispered.  
  
"Oh Erik," Christine's eyes were lit with sudden pity and understanding. She slowly came towards him. Her eyes were filled with waiting tears. She slipped her arms around him and drew her face up towards his. He realized what she was doing. She gently pressed her lips to his. There was passion in her kiss, but she broke it off soon after. He took a sharp breath in, and was filled with shame of what he was doing to her love.  
  
"Just go," He whispered. Christine's look told him she was not expecting that. Shock filled her body and she almost fell with the weight of it.  
  
"My Angel," She said softly, she drew her cold finger gently across his good cheek. "Thank-you," Erik released Raoul from the death-sentence, the Punjab Lasso that he'd worn around his neck.  
  
"Come Christine," Raoul urged. They hurried onto the delicate boat, and rushed across the dark waters of the underground lake. Christine turned her around to face him as they rowed to the other side. She had to take one last look at her Phantom. Her eyes revealed the tenderness she felt for him.  
  
"I'll always love you Erik," The thought seemed come from her, but she spoke no words.  
  
"And I you," He whispered as she was helped out of the boat by Raoul. He treated her lovingly as he looked her over to make sure she wasn't hurt. He knew she could not stay with him. Butterflies and flowers needed light to stay alive. She would always love him, but in a different way than how she loved Raoul. He understood. He saw them vanish into the darkness as they headed to the surface. "Goodbye Christine," He knew he would never see her again. The sudden gleam of torches brought him back to the present. The mob would kill him for his wrong doings if they found him, but they would not. He placed his mask on his throne and disappeared for forty long years.  
He closed his eyes against the bitterness he felt. No more would he be haunted by the demons of his past. He raised himself up off the floor with slow precision. He was exhausted from the journey he had taken through his mind. His eyes focused on the flickering candles, he was willing himself not to faint. It was done..... 


	7. Love is not Lost

A/N: Ah yes the eternal youth issue, I don't think of Erik having eternal youth. I think of how his heart has longed for love for so long that his soul preserved his person to stay the same age until he found peace from his many demons.... I decided after giving my friend this story that Erik needed a little more depth to his character, so in the last chapter I gave him the flash backs. To show how he was really molded into whom he was. Like many abuse victims it is not healthy to bottle all the emotions up. Erik had suffered many years, and I believed it was time for him to face what had happened and deal with it. So that was my reasoning for that. Also thanks again for the comments! Oh and I own the song Meg Giry sings, and Christine's favorite poem. But I don't own phantom of the opera, or any of Andrew Lloyd Webber's songs....darn it...lol  
  
Christina fingered the delicate threads of the shawl that had belonged to her Grandmamma. She could not see it, but she had been told that it was a shimmery violet color. It had been with Christine in the Opera when she'd met her Angel of Music for the first time. It held great affection and history for Christine. She had not let anyone touch it, as if hoping the magic would not wear off. Christina's eyes welled up with tears. The grief from the past months had not subsided in the least. It was what woke her every night. She cried everyday, but always in secret. Her only consolation was standing at their graves pouring her problems out to them. What was the point? She was talking to two big headstones. They couldn't talk or comfort, they were just pieces of cold rock. She wandered outside into the falling snow. She felt it land on her nose and face. She smiled up at the sky. Her blindness took away her sight, but it hadn't taken her senses of touch or hearing. The snow swirled around her as if doing some strange methodic ballet dance from the sky as it drifted down to the earth.  
  
Erik was leaning against a wall. Not an unusual occurrence, but it didn't happen very often. He usually sat at his organ. The many thoughts that had once tormented him were gone, never to be heard from again. He was left with the pleasant ones. He closed his eyes and leaned against his head against the smooth stones...  
  
Meg Giry sat in a prim manor at the piano. She did not see little Erik watching her from a crack in the door. Meg who was only seven at the time was considered something of a prodigy at the piano and at singing. She was giving a small concert for the adult. Erik's mama was having over for tea, Meg's mother had volunteered her daughter for the entertainment. It was a rare thing that his mother would invite people over. She had warned him to stay out of sight from the others. Little Meg was singing also, her clear childlike voice echoed through the small parlor.  
  
"As the lark sang to me," Her voice carried outside the door where Erik was  
peeking. "She sang from the snow covered tree. Find some shelter for the cold little bird," It was a mournful tune to say the least, but Erik was enjoying it.  
"She whispered to me; Find some hope in this wintry world, for the snow covers everything...everything...everything...she sang to me," Meg's voice died  
out in a clear high note.  
It resonated out and touched Erik's soul. How he felt like the lark, so cold and lonely. Her song made him feel better some how, to know that he wasn't the only one feeling that way.  
  
Christina felt the soft fur of her lap dog. It's tongue lapped her hand, leaving it wet and sticky with drool. She called the dog Carlotta after her grandmother's rival from the Opera House. She thought about how much her grandmother would laugh about the name. Carlotta seemed content in Christina's arms, nuzzling her head into her hand. She was sitting in her chair in her bedroom listening to the rain pelt the window. It had been a welt muddy wintry day. She had stayed inside. A servant had come to her in the afternoon and read to her the book of poems that had been her grandmother's favorite. The servant never quite captured the passion that the words were supposed to be read with. Her grandpapa had always had fervor and deepness in voice that was needed to read them correctly. She had a favorite poem called "Love's lost Light" She slowly recited the words in a whispery tone, trying to remember how it sounded when her grandpapa read it to her.  
  
Love is not lost  
It only hides away deep in the heart where no one can take it away  
Like a bird love sings continuously even if no one can hear  
Love is not lost  
It is more than a passion or a flame for those can be put out  
It can not be pushed out of mind or out of sight  
Love is never lost  
It is like a wound that never heals  
It is deep and settles like snow lightly upon the wearer  
Love is not lost  
Seasons pass and lovers grow old  
Young love is not to be tamed, for it is like a wild mustang bent on  
freedom  
Love is not lost...  
  
She sighed and leaned back into her chair. She loved that poem. It was not just some fanciful penned note to be tossed around. It had a sort of depth of light and hope to it. Carlotta licked her hand again, hoping for a morsel of food. Erik fluttered into her mind. She had not seen him in a week. The days passed slowly getting colder by the hour. She dared not travel out for fear of being caught in a winter storm. She missed his presence like a nightingale wishing for her song. She was determined to get to him soon or later. 


	8. Mourning Song

A/N: You're the readers how much longer should I go on with this story? Give me some help here...Also I want to say how much Erik's tale about his marred face is like so many people who have lost arms or legs, or even born with defects. It's hard to live like that. The thing is you have to look deeper into the heart, and don't focus about what's on the outside. Special thanks to those who took the time in reading my work and actually commenting on it: Mystery Guest, Linzy Potter, Irene, Lavendar, LoneGunGirl88, Morilinde, Catherine Morland, and bubonic woodchuck. Keep the comments coming people. It motivates me to keep writing (even the constructive comments)...you want an end to the story don't you...lol just kidding...well wait a minute...lol. I don't own Phantom Of The Opera, but I do own the Mourning Song Christina sings. Tell me how you like the song...  
  
Christina slowly entered the lair. She could hear Erik soft breathing. She could not see him, but his hair was mussed and his eyes looked tired. He looked younger for some reason, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
"Erik," She said softly not wanting to startle him. He sounded as though he was in deep thought.  
  
"Christine," He blinked and then turned to face her, retaining the old dignity that was now familiar to her. He straightened and swept his black cloak back into place, seemingly smoothing the wrinkles away.  
  
"Are you well?" She asked coming closer hearing his tired voice.  
  
"Yes...weary I suppose," He cleared his throat to get rid of the grit from not speaking for so long. "Are you well?" He returned the question. Yes, she looked quite well. She was still in black. Her dress had a modest neckline with a tight bodice with black lace trimming her long flowing sleeves and skirt. Her hair was done up into a bun with loose curls hanging around her shoulders.  
  
"I am also tired," She said. "I miss my family,"  
  
"Understandable," Erik said his voice free of emotion.  
  
"I feel as though I must do something to be rid of this grief Erik," Christina said sadly.  
  
"Sing then," He whispered. He had come over to her quietly so she was startled by his close presence.  
  
"Oh...no...," He voice caught. "I have not since..."  
  
"I know Christina," Erik said tenderly. "Sing for her again. It will soothe you eventually," He comforted.  
  
"Oh but Erik," She pleaded.  
  
"She will love to hear you again. It will help her to rest easier in her grave to know that you still sing," He encouraged. She shook her head no, but then seemed resigned to the task he had assigned her. Her mouth opened slightly, the curve of her rose colored lips was intoxicating. He looked away. Then she quietly began singing. He had half-expected her not to. He stepped back to look at her properly, like a teacher evaluating a student. Her voice was soft and clear a beautiful soprano, a little like Christine's. It had its own distinct quality. She sang the mourning song that was usually sung at funerals.  
  
You are gone  
I am left alone  
To face life alone  
Oh how I want to be lifted up into the heavens  
I'll follow you wherever you go  
But without wings I cannot journey there  
Oh let me fly there  
Let me go there  
I can not follow you to the celestial places  
So I must face this life alone  
Alone.....  
  
Her voice carried her on like she was battling a storm on her own. The song reached its climax. She sang notes that were high on the scale perfectly. He looked at her impressed. Her shoulders were set naturally back, her head lifted high with the emotion as if she had wings. The room was filled with the ethereal sounds of the mourning song. When she was done her voice held the last note till she could hold it no longer. It died on her lips slowly and a tear slipped down her cheek. Erik said nothing for a moment about the display of brilliant execution of the song. No words seemed to echo what his soul felt at that moment. It was as though he had been lifted and soared into the heavens with wings. She heaved in air, and leaned against her cane. She felt relieved. She had sung again. Not for many months had she lift her voice even to hum a tune. Her grandmother's death had been the finish of her hope that had shone through whenever she sang. With Christine gone there was no reason to sing.  
  
"Nicely done," Erik said. His voice told her nothing of how the song had affected him. Praise from the man was enough for her. 


	9. In My Arms

A/N: Here we go ladies the romancing had begun.....Tell me how you like it....please  
  
Erik was staring at nothing. It had been only a few hours since he had held Christina in his arms as she wept bitterly. It was as if she was releasing the tension of the past weeks and months. Her small frame had shaken with sobs. All he could do was hold her. Her smooth pale skin had felt like silk. He had not touched a human being for many years other than the night he had grabbed Christina's wrist. He had tried to be gentle with her, but he was a man who had no experience at being gentle. He remembered how her blonde curls had fallen down from the bun, and had lain forlornly against the stark black cloth of her dress. She had sunk slowly down until she lay in a heap at his feet after she had finished singing. He had bent down to comfort her. Tears had poured out, and she lay inconsolable in his arms. Finally she could cry no more, and the sobs had reduced to tiny hiccups. Her eyes were closing in exhaustion, her lashes gleaming wet. Her body relaxed, and her breathing became even. He looked down at her. She looked so helpless and so forlorn. Like a rose hanging on limply in a hailstorm.  
  
"Christina," He whispered not wanting to wake her. She would be happy if only for a little while in her dreams. Now in the present he was still cradling her close to him. He had not moved from his spot on the hard stone floor for two hours. He did not want to make her leave her peaceful dreams. He glanced down at her face. She looked like a beautiful china doll. Her face was so pale and her lips were naturally pink. Her curly blonde hair accented her face and made her look other-worldly, almost angelic. His Angel of Music...  
  
Christina's first conscious thought was wondering where she was. She felt soft velvet material against her cheek. She slowly opened her eyes, she was lying in someone's arms. Erik. Her mind was instantly alert. She could not see him. His eyes were closed, as if he was also sleeping. His back was leaning against a wall. They had not moved from the spot where she had crumbled into tears. Foolish girl. Could she not control her emotions? No she could not. No one who had not lost someone close could even begin to comprehend her grief. Erik could understand better than she. He had been through the shadows of hell and come out, seemingly unscathed. But she knew better. His mind had been thrust into a nose dive of never ending pain. The tortures of his mind were too complex for her to understand. She could feel his chest rise and fall peacefully. Even in her grief she realized something had changed, something had transpired while she had been away. She felt a connection with him that had never been there before. His arms were cradling her delicately, and his hand was slipped into her palm. She spread her fingers against his and examined it. His hand was cold, but then it always had been. She turned his palm gently around to inspect it with her fingers. Unbeknownst to her he was gazing down at her silently. His eyes had always been of curiosity to her. Christina had told her about Erik's eyes. His left eye was a clouded transparent pearl coloring surrounded by his mask. His right eye was a blue color that looked like a marble with grey mixed in. Erik had become her world, the only thing she had left. She felt something stirred in her heart.  
Christina was listless at home. Not willing to eat very much or sleep for that matter. The servants were beside themselves with worry about her deteriorating health. Never had she seemed so distant to anyone before. Not even reading her favorite books out loud to her seemed to sooth her soul. Carlotta sensed her mistress's mood and could not be consoled she ran around howling which echoed loudly in the empty halls.  
  
Erik had never felt so helpless about a situation. He sensed Christina was in turmoil, still grieving over the loss of her grandparents. He glanced around at his surroundings. He was sitting in Box 5. Miraculously it seemed preserved from thieves, and the gold paneling around the railing was still intact. The rumors about the Phantom of the Opera's favorite box had circled around France faster than he had anticipated. He smiled slowly. His thoughts turned back to Christina. Her voice had been excellent; it would shame the gaudy and shrieky voice Carlotta had exhibited. She had not been fit to walk the stage after Christine had lifted her voice there. The thought of Christine did not haunt him anymore, but the thought of Christina did. Not in a torturous way, but like honey the thought dripped in and stuck. He thought of her all the time...Christina... 


	10. Little Flower

A/N: Don't own POTO, but I do own the little flower song. R&R  
  
Christina's heart could not bear being away from Erik. His presence comforted her like nothing else could. Books, poems or even Carlotta calmed her anymore. She had taken a great risk traveling a few days ago when the rain had lulled. She could have been caught in a sudden down pour or snow storm. Now there was no way for her to leave the manor. Sleet was raining down making the library cold. She shivered drawing the blanket someone had draped around her shoulders closer to her chin. The door to the library had been closed, and at her request she had ask no one to disturb her. She got up from her chair and pressed her pale hand against the cold window pane.  
  
"Oh Grandmamma, why it so hard?" She sighed heavily. "Why does the heart take such a long time to heal?"  
  
"The heart is not something that can be flung on the stone and then picked back up and expected to work my little one," Her grandmother's voice seemed to say. "It takes time to heal. It takes time to learn to love again, and to trust,"  
  
"When will it be over?" She forced herself not to cry. Her eyes were beginning to overflow with tears.  
  
"If I could take you into my arms I would my little love," Her grandmother's voice whispered.  
  
"Oh how I wish you could,"  
  
"Be strong...,"  
  
"Grandmamma," Christina said softly. "He asked me to sing for you...I did," The voice said nothing more and there was a satisfied silence. She had felt release in the lair as she had sung would it help her pain now? But without Erik? Could she do that? Her heart felt so heavy she would try anything to buoy it up once more.  
  
"Little flower, little flower" She started off in a whisper. The song was a  
melancholy love song, one of her grandmother's favorites.  
"Little flower, why do you weep,"  
"Where is the sunshine your first love?" "Why are you lonely? Little flower, little flower," Her grandmother hand  
sang it to her when she was only a baby.  
"Where is the sunshine your first love?"  
"Why are you weeping? Why are you weeping?"  
"Why are your petals not shining in the soft sunlight?"  
"Little flower, little flower, the jewel of the earth," Her face was shining with fresh tears. Her eyes now were the color of the deep sea, a  
cold blue. "Oh why are you weeping, where is the sun your first love?" She leaned her  
forehead against the window pane and whispered the last words. "Little flower, little flower why... do you weep," She slowly brushed away  
stray curl from her tear filled eyes.  
  
Erik sat back in the shadows of the lair. The winter had finally unleashed its full fury. Snow was falling in great heaps all around the opera house. Some of it was coming down from cracks in the roof and falling on the depilated seats. He had wrapped his cloak around his body, and that had kept him warm. Even though he was accustomed to the regular damp cold of the lair, this was different cold. It was a slow creeping freeze that had settled over the hard stones that made up the walls and floor of the lair. He should have been immensely angry at how his glorious opera house was falling apart piece by piece, but he was not. It was a resignation. He brushed his fingers through his coal black hair. A small strand of hair came out and it landed on his shoulder. He almost flicked it off, but something caught his eye. The strand was grey. He was starting to age. No longer would his heart keep him from growing old. Was it true? He stared at the strand closely. It was. So it had begun he had fallen in love. How he had pushed the thought away many times, and now it seemed true. He had fallen for Christina. 


	11. The Painting

A/N: So ladies how do you like it? Erik seem dashing enough. Wouldn't we all love to be Christina when she finally gets to kiss him? I'm sure he's a good kisser...lol. Though some phantom bashers could contest that thought...oh well...onward...  
  
Daniella her personal maid ran a brush down Christina's long curly blonde hair. It was their usual custom before the morning meal. She would help her lady get dressed, and then put her hair up. Today Christina seemed a little more relaxed than usual. Daniella pulled out one of the many black dresses Christina had acquired, and contemplated which would look better on her mistress. She finally chose an ebony dress that had a low neckline and a tight bodice, the latest style in Paris. She looked like a pale glass poupée, a doll. The sleeves clung to the arms of the wearer tightly and were fastened at the black silky cuff with a diamond. Daniella did Christina's hair up loosely into a curly bun, and carefully placed a delicate diamond pin into the golden tresses. She was beautiful.  
Christina sat at the table in the ornate dining room her grandfather had designed. The table was large and could seat thirty guests. She was the only one eating there, and looked lost among the large mahogany chairs, and crystal candelabras. She was served her usual breakfast fare of an omelet and crapes with strawberries and cream. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was her usual morning. It would be what she would do each morning until she died. Her life would not change much or so it seemed.  
  
"Is it still raining?" She asked forlornly to her server Andre.  
  
"Yes my lady," He said looking out the large glass window. The snow had turned to rain. It was a seemingly endless pattern, the rain and snow.  
  
"And the roads will be treacherous?"  
  
"Yes my lady," He said slowly. "It is not advisable to travel anywhere,"  
  
"Thank you," She said softly. It did not seem that she was very thankful for the bad news. Her soul longed for the man. But now she could not be with him. The rains would stop soon, but when?  
  
Erik listened to the steady drops of water as they fell on the stone floor. The candle's flickered. It was pouring rain outside. Even though he was many miles underground he could hear the intense thunder and rain as it fell in torrents. Christina usually visited twice a week, and today was her usual day to see him. She had not come in the morning or in the afternoon. Now it was evening. He could understand. Women didn't want to get their skirts wet, but even in this weather he wouldn't dare go out. He tried concentrating on his composing, but that didn't work. He paced the floor, his black cape brushing against his legs every time he turned. Something caught his eye. It was a door he had not used for many years. The handle was rusty from not being used, and the hinges squealed horribly as he pulled it open knowing what he would find. He picked up a candle and held it up to bring light into the dark space.  
The room was dusty and covered with spider webs. Crates and boxes lay scattered haphazardly around the large room. Paintings were strewn about, torn off the walls. His prizes. He had bought them on his many travels. They were real, all done by masters of the art. His eyes fell upon a particular one. He picked it up carefully and wiped the dust away from the canvas. Someone had tried to puncture it. It was a painting of Christine. He held the candle up to see it better. He had gotten the best painter in France and paid a higher price than all the other famous works for this painting. She had been a beauty. Her long light brown hair had hung in soft curls around her shoulders. Her green eyes were captured sparkling by the artist. Her dress had been bought with his money and sent to her as a gift. It accented her figure perfectly as if it had been made just for her. It had been. It was a creamy white dress with a hint of blue. It hung on her frame beautifully. He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. He looked back down at the puncture mark that had been half indented into Christine's ring finger. Ah so now he remembered. He had forced Christine inside his painting gallery to await Raoul who would eventually come. She had been the one who had tried to blot out the memory of the engagement ring Erik had given her. It had been a lovely ring, a pure gold band with etchings of roses going around it. He smiled. He carefully set the painting down, and began to look around again. He slowly surveyed the room, walking around it and setting paintings, boxes, and crates back in order. He picked up a crate near the back of the room and discovered something. A piece of dirty white silk lay on the stone, and under it laid the ring. It was part of the wedding dress that he'd forced Christine to wear that night. She had ripped it purposely. What a silent way to rebel, he shook his head. She had been a little more secretive than he had known. He picked up the small ring. It shone in the light of the candle. It was the engagement ring he'd given to her. She had hidden it away from him. She had truly loved Raoul after all. He closed his fingers over the cold ring. He strode out of the room and closed the door. More memories could be left in the dark until tomorrow. It was how things were meant to be. 


	12. Sous la pluie

A/N: Ok I used the English to French translator forgive me! *Ducks from being hit with rotten tomatoes* I wanted to get the French in there because I feel it would be so sweet for him to talk to her that way. So for those of you who speak French do not cringe. Ignore the French grammar problems and look at the tenderness of his voice as he speaks to her....*wipes excess tomato gunk off face*  
  
Rain pounded the glass window. Christina was so weary of the rain. Hadn't the heavens already been emptied several times with torrents of rain? She had not seen Erik in nine days. She had counted each minute, and each hour. Her passion for him had grown steadily over the months she had seen him. It was impossible not to be drawn to him. But now the irony was which was worse being trapped in his lair, or being trapped by the rain?  
  
Erik slowly rubbed the ring with the fabric of his cape to get the grit off of it. The ring was not fit to grace anyone else's fingers other than Christine's. It was so beautiful it was like magic glowing in the candlelight. He had slipped it on her finger without so much a glimmer of explanation. Christine's face had been one of shock and hurt. He had known she was in love with Raoul and yet he had done it anyways. He had declared their engagement with a lovely ring. That token meant nothing to her. She had loved Raoul and no number of gifts could take it away. He berated himself for not seeing that before.  
  
Christina could wait no longer for the winter rains to cease. She would go when the rains diminished enough to order a carriage. It would be the most foolhardy thing she had ever done in her life, and she knew it. It was dark before the rains let up enough for her to journey out.  
  
The candles cast a glow over the damp stones of the lair. Erik set his gaze across the dark lake with its deep dangerous waters. He'd come up with a systems of ropes that could pull the boat across for Christina. They had not been used for many days and he was lonely. He missed Christina's deep thoughts. And even though she was weathered by grief she had a calming spirit about her. He turned back around and headed for the store room. He picked up a candle once again and opened the creaking door. All was the same. He picked his way through the boxes wondering if Christine had left any other clues that she had been there. There was nothing else, but he pocketed the tiny white piece of cloth he'd left there the night before. As he was closing the door he heard footsteps in the darkness. It was Christina. She was dripping wet and her clothes were plastered to her body with cold rain. She almost fainted from exhaustion, but he caught her before she hit the ground. He almost swore out loud. She was icy to the touch. Her face was white and almost blue. Her pale features stood out in sharp contrast to the black dress she wore. He brought an old chair out for her and she sank slowly down onto it.  
  
"Mon petit, my little one," He said softly. "What are you doing here?" His face was etched with concern. She mumbled something incoherently. "Vous êtes si froid, you are so cold," He said tenderly. "Parlez-moi mon amour, speak to me my love,"  
  
"Oh Erik," She opened her eyes slightly. They had no light in them. That frightened him.  
  
"Why did you come here?" He asked again looking directly into her eyes.  
  
"To see you," She whispered so softly he had to lean in to hear her.  
  
"You didn't take a carriage?"  
  
"I did," She nodded weakly. She slumped forward, but he caught her with his arm and eased her back into it.  
  
"Petit agneau, little lamb?" He whispered.  
  
"I'm sorry I did not come this morning, I thought the rain would go away by tonight," She said sounding like a lost child. Erik flung off his heavy black cape, and wrapped it around her shivering form.  
  
He shook his head. "You're going to kill yourself,"  
  
"I don't care what happens to me," She said softly. She closed her eyes.  
  
"Well you should," He muttered angrily. "What happen to using a carriage to get here?" He asked her.  
  
"The wheels got stuck in the mud, I walked the rest of the way here," She murmured.  
  
"So you trudged all the way here in the mud, and the rain?"  
  
"Yes,"  
  
"Sous la pluie! In the rain!" He cursed under his breath. He rubbed her arms vigorously to help the blood flow. She was still dangerously pale. If she stayed here she would die, it was to cold for someone so weak and wet as Christina was at that moment.  
  
"I wanted you to know you weren't forgotten," She whispered. "Because you aren't,"  
  
"I know," He almost choked. He smothered the urge to break down. She cared.  
  
"You don't look so good," He said clearing his throat and brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.  
  
"I'm not much of a fighter,"  
  
"Oh Christina," He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say such things,"  
  
"I'm sorry Erik," She said. "I had to see you," She placed her cold hand on the right side of his face. He did not jerk away, but allowed himself to feel the smooth silkiness of her palm for a moment. It felt as though a snowflake had landed on his cheek. She slowly withdrew her hand. Her breathing was becoming labored. He was pulled back into reality. He suddenly swung her up gently into his arms.  
  
"What are you doing?" She asked too weak to fight him.  
  
"Taking you home ma petite beauté, my small beauty,"  
  
"But the carriage, it's stuck," She said weakly. The warmness of the cloak Erik had placed around her made her feel sleepy.  
  
"We aren't taking the carriage," He said striding towards the boat that lay waiting on the lake waters. Before he opened the door to the street he wrapped his large cape over her and around his shoulders. At least it would keep him half dry. His only concern right now was Christina.  
  
They traveled on through back alleys and side streets he did not wish to be seen with one of the richest women in France, people would think he had kidnapped her. He had kept up with where Christine had settled down, but never once visited there. He had asked Christina for directions before they walked into the rain. He peeked once in a dark alley under his cloak to see how she was doing. Her eyes were closed and a gleam of feverish sweat was beaded across her forehead. His heart raced, and it propelled him onward through the heavy rain. The manor rose up in the distance. He hurried on up past the manicured gardens to the carriage drive way. He knocked heavily on the huge wooden door to the manor. A surprised servant opened the door in sleeping clothes. He had pulled his hat down lower over his face to hide the obvious trait to his character, his mask. If anyone recognized him they would kill him. He gently handed over Christina into the arms of the servant. He dipped his head curtly to him; the servant was still in shock at what had transpired. To shocked to notice who had handed Christina over to him.  
  
Erik shook excess water off the cape. That girl! He shook his head. He desperately hoped she would live through the night. She looked very ill. She had seemed so weak in the lair. He wished he could have stayed with her through the night to help her battle the fever, but it was left up to her. He remembered how her eyes even though blinded had shone with gentle love for him. Her hand on his cheek had almost been his undoing. He was glad she had not seen the emotion spark in his eyes. Oh how he loved her... 


	13. I Dreamed of Him

A/N: Don't own POTO or All I ask of you Song...darn it, but I do own Christina...it would really be nice guys if you could review my story...just a thought  
  
Christina lay still on her bed in slumber. Her mind was consumed with other worldly things. In her dreams she'd had terrible vivid nightmares of torture and hell. She had tossed and turned in her feverish state trying to run away from them. The dark visions of hell had surrounded her and in her dream she could hear the screams of anguish of the damned as she tried to escape. In this dream she could see where she was, which made the dream all the more nightmarish. She had found herself running down a narrow hall with no windows or doors. The hall just kept unfurling itself, she hurtled herself against walls, but the nightmare did not wish to end. The dark was pressing down on her heavily from each side. Finally she sank down and wept. She brought her hands to her face, trying to hide from the black night. In the midst of her sobs she heard a soft voice that seemed to come up from underneath the floor. It sang to her. Her hands came down off of her face, and she looked around for the source of the captivating sound. She could not find it. She listened carefully as the voice softly sang to her. It calmed her shattered nerves, and the darkness didn't seem so terrifying.  
  
No more talk of darkness,  
forget these wide-eyed fears;  
I'm here, nothing can harm you,  
my words will warm and calm you.  
  
Let me be your freedom,  
let daylight dry your tears;  
I'm here, with you, beside you,  
to guard you and to guide you.  
  
She recognized the voice. It was Erik..., but no longer was he trying to frighten her with a haunted voice. He was trying to soothe her soul. She let the sound flow around her.  
  
Let me be your freedom,  
let daylight dry your tears;  
I'm here, with you, beside you,  
to guard you and to guide you.  
  
Christina gasped inwardly as he appeared before her, dark and translucent. She could see him at last. He reached out his hand and she reached up and grasped it. He held her close to him as he sang in a whispery voice.  
  
Let me be your shelter,  
let me be your light;  
you're safe, no one will find you,  
your fears are far behind you.  
  
They danced in the shadows, music from an unseen violin playing a slow song. She gazed up into his eyes as he whirled her around. The darkness was their dance floor. She seemed to have wings her feet touched the ground so lightly. She could feel his strong arm against her back on the soft fabric of her nightgown. He slowly turned her about, until the violin died softly away. He finished the song, whispering it into her ear.  
  
Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime;  
let me lead you from your solitude.  
Say you need me with you, here beside you,  
anywhere you go, let me go too,  
Christina, that's all I ask of you  
  
He held her in his arms as if not wanting the moment to end. His mouth was seconds away from touching her lips. She closed her eyes. The moment came, but there was no light brush of his lips against hers. She felt something light slip over her head and settle a little lower than her collarbone. She opened her eyes, and found him to be gone. Her dream faded into black nothingness. 


	14. Thoughts of You

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews guys. I don't know what kind of story I'm going to after this. I'm open to suggestions...really really open!  
  
Christina lay peacefully sleeping in her bed. Sunlight shone into her room, casting away the dark shadows that had been there the night before. Her eyes fluttered open. Her blind eyes filtered in the light, but none of it shone in her vision. She suddenly felt the slight pressure of something around her neck. Her hand moved to touch the object. It was a delicate chain, and hanging on it was a ring. There was something etched on it. How it had gotten there she did not know. Then the memories flooded back to her. Erik! It hadn't been a dream after all! She shuddered with the realization.  
  
Erik lay exhausted on a flat bed in a dark corner of the lair. It was small, but comfortable. It had to be if he was to sleep there each night for eternity or however long he had left. He had bought it from a highly skilled furniture maker. All through letter agreement of course. His eyes closed as the weariness. He had entered Christina's dreams uninvited of course, but he had sensed her turmoil from afar. He had been an onlooker of her dreams many times, and had not let his presence be known. This time however her dreams of hell had mirrored his past and he felt anxiety welling up in her. Her sobs had shaken him to enter her subconscious. It had taken much of his energy to be there. But it had been worth it. So he had sung to her. He didn't remember when he had truly sung sincerely. His past vocal endeavors had been sickening devilish. Now he remembered what it was like to truly sing, to have the song well up in your heart and come bursting through triumphantly. The gift he had given her, ring that hung on a necklace had been a token from his heart. He had not forced the rose etched ring on Christina's finger like had been done so long ago with her grandmother. He had given it to her on a chain, so that she might have a choice, and not be forced into making a decision. In truth, if she took the ring off the chain and placed it on her ring finger, than she would be making a declaration of love. If she kept the ring on the chain she would just be being kind and wearing it as if it was a gift from a friend. He sighed with heavy calm. Whatever she did he could always love her, even from afar if necessary.  
  
Christina sat up straighter in her favorite chair by the window. The winter moon shone through her open balcony window. The white silky curtains had been pulled back and were slowly doing their own strange dance in the wind. A heavy quilt graced her shoulders. Her servants were not taking any chances on her getting worse, but she had insisted she needed to feel the night air. She dared not go to sleep again. The thought of Erik coming to her in her dreams was an unsettling one. She fingered the ring. It had been an intimate gift to give her. She knew what it meant. She could not face him right now. She had to think deeply about her decision. Did she truly love him, or was it just an attraction to the unseen. She prayed she would make the right choice. She prayed her heart would make the right choice. 


	15. In The Twilight

A/N: Don't own Phantom, but do own poem. Don't own Music of the Night song. Just a suggestion I feel I get the most out of a story while I'm listening to classical music, or someone like Kevin Kern, something melancholy always works. So try that and get the most emotion and passion from it as possible. Thank you to the new Reviewers!! The reviews help me so much!  
  
Erik stared up at the empty darkness. He had wandered through his memories many times. The one memory that seemed to take him back into the past the most was the memory of his mother. He could see her proud haughty face. Her eyes had been jet black, so black they looked purple. Her raven hair had cascaded around her waist, which was tiny and her figure was perfect hour glass. Her cultured voice echoed in his mind. She hated the confines of shoes, so she usually went barefoot unless they had company. Her charm was known all around Paris. She was a lady, but even ladies could be seduced. She was. The fact was not widely known, but she had an affair with an unknown Count. He had resulted from their union. Erik closed his eyes. A friend of the family had told him when he was very young how the screams of horror from his mother when she had first seen her son still haunted him. He had been an unwanted curse to her. He had paid detectives to search everywhere for her. They had come back with sickening news. She the belle of France had hung herself two years after she had given him up to the gypsies. Her body had been found swinging from a hastily made hangman's noose in an unseemly dirty hotel room. So she had died in misery and ruin. He sighed deeply. His brow was wrinkled with the thought. Too many young beauties were dying from broken hearts. He knew for certain that Christina would not die that way. He would not allow it. His resolve had returned and he was suddenly no long tired.  
  
Several nights later Christina smiled in her sleep. She was dreaming again. Erik was there. She was sitting in what seemed to be twilight by a fountain, its waters laughing and gurgling from the stone angel pouring it out from a "clay" pot into the waters below. She was sitting daintily beside it. Erik appeared from the purple-grey shadows, his black hat pulled down low over his mask.  
  
"Bonsoir Fantôme Erik," Christina smiled softly.  
  
"Bonsoir," He greeted. He sat down beside her.  
  
"How...?" She started to ask him how he was entering her dreams, but he gently placed a finger against her lips.  
  
"Do not ask me that question," Erik said. "For I can not tell you," She opened her mouth to ask why, but he softly brushed his thumb across her cheek.  
  
"So this is real? I am really talking to you?" She asked.  
  
"Yes," He nodded. She placed her hand against his cheek.  
  
"I can see you," Her eyes grew moist. "I can see," She breathed. "This is still a dream, anything can happen in your dreams," He was not smiling, but his eyes were. They held a light that had not been there before.  
  
"Thank you for the gift," Christina whispered as if pulling from a daze and withdrawing her hand. He glanced at the ring. It was still on the chain around her neck.  
  
"You're welcome," He nodded.  
  
"I love it more than anything I've ever gotten," She rubbed it absentmindedly. The gold shone.  
  
"I can see that," He laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, but it seemed rusty from not being used, but what did he have to laugh about?  
  
"I have a gift for you, but it is not with me," She said sadly looking very beautiful in her long white lacy nightgown.  
  
"Whatever it is just imagine it here with you and it will appear, this is a dream after all," He encouraged eager to see what she had for him. Christina closed her eyes, and then in her hands appeared a leather bound book. She opened them surprised. She fingered the pages of the book with reverence.  
  
"I want you to have this," She held it out to him. He took it carefully and opened the book to the first page and read the inscription out loud.  
  
"Christine Daae's favorite poems," He read, and then looked up confused. "Why are you giving me this?" He passed his fingers over the old cursive.  
  
"She wrote all of her favorite poems and songs down in there. I felt it would help you to feel closer to her, I know how lonely you are,"  
  
"Thank you," He breathed.  
  
"Well go ahead. Read one," She urged. He carefully flipped a couple of pages and settled his eyes on Christine's flowing script.  
  
"The sun rises each day," He began. "Without the help of any human interference. The stars shine throughout the misty nights, with no match to light them. The rivers and oceans flow through currents, and waves crash against the shores without a ship to guide them. It is like love. Love goes through each day with no help from anyone, except for higher power," He finished. The poem reverberated through him. No wonder Christine loved this poem. It sounded just like her, young and bright and full of words laced with passion.  
  
"That was beautiful," Christina timidly touched his shoulder. He felt her soft hand through his heavy cloak and shirt.  
  
"She always had very good tastes," He smiled. He looked sadly back down at the book. "And in the end she chose well,"  
  
"Yes she did," Christina nodded. "I know how much she meant to you," He stayed silent his eyes averted. She searched for something to say to ease the pain of silence.  
  
"Read some more?" She asked hopefully.  
  
"Of course," He quickly turned a page, and was preparing to turn to another page, but suddenly stopped. "What...what is this?" He turned the book so she could see it.  
  
"That is your song is it not?" She asked.  
  
"Why yes, but how?" He said looking back down at the inked cursive.  
  
"She loved your song Erik," Christina explained. "She sang it when she thought no one was listening. She did it beautifully,"  
  
"Of that I have no doubt," He shook his head in wonderment. "She remembered every word,"  
  
"She always had an ear for music," Christina smiled.  
  
"Was she happy after she left me?" He asked suddenly.  
  
"My grandfather said she was quite inconsolable for a few weeks. You left quite a mark on her," She said seriously.  
  
"I was hoping I had not,"  
  
"Erik how can you help it?"  
  
"I wanted her to be happy, away from me," He said his voice sounding tortured.  
  
"Once someone has met you they can not forget you," She said grasping his hand in her own. He closed his eyes savoring the soft warm feeling her palm gave off. "She was happy," Christina whispered. He looked up at her.  
  
"I thought you said..."  
  
"I did, but she carried a bit of you inside of her so she was never lonely or unhappy,"  
  
"That is pleasant to know,"  
  
"Yes," She lightly touched her fingers over his hand. "Erik...I have a request,"  
  
"Yes?" He asked. She blushed uncertain of how to go about it.  
  
"Will you sing it to me?" Christina asked. Erik opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him with the sweetest look.  
  
"Are you sure you wish to hear this?"  
  
"Yes Erik,"  
  
"It is apart of your grandmother's past, I hope it won't be to painful for you to hear,"  
  
"I have no more tears to shed,"  
  
"Very well," He said slowly. He stood and offered his hand to her. She took it, and stood and faced him. He took a deep breath, hoping she would enjoy it as much as when she heard her grandmother sing it. He looked at her, hoping she would change her mind. She tilted her head, waiting. A bemused smile crossed her lips. He closed his eyes and remembered a time when darkness had surrounded and cloaked him. Passion rippled through the air as he began to sing...  
  
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation  
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses"  
  
He whispered it softly. She looked as if hypnotized at his mouth as he sang. Her eyes were wide with wonder.  
  
"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor  
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender  
Turn your face away from the garish light of day  
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light  
And listen to the music of the night"  
  
He slowly moved around her, as if gathering the darkness up like a  
harvester. His hands rose and fell with the sound of his voice.  
  
"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams  
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before  
Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar  
And you'll live as you've never lived before."  
  
Erik looked deeply into her eyes as he sang. The song was from his darker days, he did not want it to frighten her. Instead she looked enchanted with the song as he sang so he continued on.  
  
"Softly, deftly music shall caress you  
Hear it, feel it secretly possess you  
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind  
In this darkness which you know you can not fight  
The darkness of the music of the night"  
  
"Let your mind start a journey though a strange new world  
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before  
Let your soul take you where you long to be  
Only then can you belong to me"  
  
She looked up at him feeling exhilarated. He held her tenderly. Never had she felt this way before. She felt like she was flying as she listened to him. His voice reached the climax of the song. She felt as if she was being lifted off her feet.  
  
"Floating, falling sweet intoxication  
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation  
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in  
To the power of the music that I write  
The power of the music of the night"  
  
He brushed his fingers against her shoulder and down her arm. She felt a  
tingle go up her spine. Their eyes locked. He slowly paused, and then  
continued on in a softer tone.  
  
"You alone can make my song take flight  
Help me make the music of the night"  
  
She was speechless. Her breath had been knocked out of her by the power that the song had possessed. Erik caught her before she sank to her knees.  
  
"That was beautiful," She whispered. She rested her head against his chest listening to his heart beat. 


	16. Tears from the Past

A/N: Ok guys we're rounding the home stretch here....*people scream in protest, they pick up tomatoes as warning* Just kidding! *Hold hands up in surrender* Ok I'll write more! *Laboring over hot laptop*  
  
Thank you to all of you guys who reviewed my story!  
  
Erik had left her in her dream. He was no longer needed, or so he argued. He had to escape away from her. His feelings were clear for her, but his mind was still muddled with thoughts that could not be put into words. He had sung a song that had not been vocalized in many long years. It echoed through his heart. How could he not remember the night he took Christine into his lair and enchanted her with his song? Well...enchanted wasn't the correct word. More like stunned. Christine had never heard anything like it, but with Christina it was different. She was used to hearing those kinds of things from her grandmother. She had been captivated with his mouth as it had moved with the words. Even though she could see him in her dreams she still touched his shoulder or his hand. She was not repulsed by him, a creature of darkness. He knew she was also curious about his face and his mask, but she had not even made a move to examine his face closer. He did not know whether to take comfort in that or not.  
  
Christina's eyes flew open to the usual darkness. She could sleep no longer. The dream had been so vivid, and his touch was so tender. Her heart was beating rapidly. She had to go to him! Her mind suddenly cleared. She was still getting well. She couldn't risk catching cold again. She settled her head back into the soft pillows. She would go to him when she was well again and no longer after that. Christina's fingers reached up to feel the ring he had given her, it still hung on the chain around her neck. It gave off a comforting smooth feeling. Her eyes closed once more heavy with weariness.  
  
Erik turned a page in Christine's book of poems. She had written more than a hundred poems and songs down. Her own notes graced the lines in between each. She shared how much each poem meant to her, or where she had acquired it from. He glanced back to the page where she had written his song down. All the title said was; Erik's Song. A small note had been written underneath the song. It said: My Teacher's masterpiece. He squinted at something that was smudged on the bottom of the page. It looked to be an old yellowed spot. A tear drop had fallen there. He looked at it in horror, suddenly finding many more of those spots on that page. He buried his face in his hands, and the book fell forgotten on the stone floor. Christine had wept over that song. "I'm sorry Christine," He said, a tear coursing down his cheek. "I didn't mean to cause you pain," He whispered. He realized how manipulative he'd been. Kidnapping her, and forcing her to do things she should not have had to do. He slammed his palm against the stone, causing pain to shoot up his arm. But the pain did not shake him from his mental anguish. He realized the immensity of what he had done to the poor girl. She had just been a child, and he had made her grow up to fast. No he had never violated her completely, but he had come close. He had thought he was invincible, but sweet charming Christine had disarmed him. He had to move on some how. When he did give his heart to Christina he would have to give it all to her... 


	17. Little Tears

Christina drew a shawl over her shoulders. She was worried about Erik. He had not appeared in her dreams for almost a week. Had she offended him? Why hadn't he returned to talk with her? Christina was tired, she had been proclaimed well by the physician only yesterday. A small cough was the only reminder of the night Erik had carried her home. She sat in the bumping carriage as it rolled over stones and mud. It was twilight and the sun was leaving behind a trail of brilliant gold in the sky. She missed Erik terribly. His presence warmed her dreams, and kept the nightmares at bay. The Opera House loomed in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation. She hoped Erik would welcome her back.  
  
She felt her way along the wall of the lair. "Erik?" She called. He was not there to meet her with his usual greeting. She had no way to find him in her blind state, but to feel her way around the lair. "Erik?" She called out again. She placed a stray curl back into her bun that was laced with black ribbon. She was sure her expensive black silk dress was dirty with all the dust that lined the floor. Her hand bumped into something. It was wooden. A door? Erik had never shown her this. She felt around to see if she could find the handle. When she'd found it she twisted it, and the door popped open. She felt her heart beat faster. Could there be traps in here, or other dangerous things? She carefully inched her way into the room. Christina's feet bumped into boxes several times. She felt bruises forming on her toes. Her delicate shoes were no match for rough heavy boxes. She stilled suddenly. She heard soft breathing. Someone was in the room with her! "Oh please let him be well," She prayed silently. She placed her hand back on the wall to begin inching forward again. A few minutes later her foot came in contact with something that wasn't a box. It was softer. She bent down and placed her hand on the object. It was a shoulder. Someone was lying on the ground. She searched with her hands anxiously to find the face. It was Erik. "Erik!" She cried. She grasped his shoulder trying to pull him up. She somehow managed to get his body leaning up against the wall. Tears pricked at her eyes. She placed a finger out in front of his mouth. she felt warm breath hit her skin. He was breathing. She caressed his good cheek with the back of her hand. She was so tired.  
  
"Don't be sick," She pleaded softly. The tears were falling faster now.  
  
"Christina?" Erik said slowly.  
  
"Oh Erik," She said drawing in a sob.  
  
"What's wrong?" Erik asked noticing her harried appearance. He wiped a stray tear away from her face.  
  
"Why are you in here? Are you sick?" She said frantically. He placed his hands on both of her shoulders heavily and got her to sink down next to him. He hadn't had to deal with a frantic female in a long while. He almost laughed. She thought he was dead? He forced the laugh down and took his time trying to calm himself. If he laughed now she would never forgive him.  
  
"I'm not sick," He said seriously. He took her in his arms. His arms were warm and strong, and they comforted her immediately. She settled her head against his chest.  
  
"Why didn't you answer me?" She said meekly.  
  
"I was sleeping," He answered simply.  
  
"In here? I thought you had a bed," She was so confused.  
  
"I prefer the floor to the bed sometimes," Erik smiled.  
  
"You scared me," She said softly. She had used all of her energy searching for him. Now still days after her being almost deathly ill she got tired easily, and with grief from her grandparents deaths still haunting her it was easy to see why she had cried.  
  
"I tend to do that to a lot of people," He said trying to make her smile. He was rewarded with a tired smile.  
  
"I missed you," She said. "Why didn't you come to me?"  
  
"I couldn't my dear," He said softly. "Shhh, don't worry I won't leave you like that again," He comforted, tightening his arms around her gently for a moment. She murmured something he couldn't hear. Her eyes closed slowly. She had fallen asleep. That was easy, he thought silently. He hadn't meant to frighten her. He felt more at home sleeping on the ground by his collection of paintings. He couldn't explain why. He slowly picked her up and gently set her down on his bed, drawing the thick covers up close to her neck. He reached underneath a blanket and slipped off her shoes. He couldn't believe she had fallen asleep. He shook his head. That girl. He smiled. He slipped away from her quietly, content to let her sleep alone.  
  
Erik's mask had always been central part of his being. It represented who he was, and shielded his face, blinding people to the truth of what really lay underneath. He paced the floor. He had turned the thought over in his mind many times since he had met Christina. Would he or wouldn't he take off his mask and reveal to her what he truly was? That was the haunting question that lingered in his mind. She was blind, but that didn't mean she couldn't "see" with her fingers by placing them on his face. He frowned and flipped through the piles of music he had written over the years. There was his old musical his life's work Don Juan Triumphant. Now it seemed worthless, like a young boy's scribble over many expensive pages. He turned through the reams and reams of cream paper. He wasn't even really looking at the titles of each piece. He was doing something with his hands as he thought. He would never get anywhere with Christina by hiding behind a mask all of his life. He needed to reveal to her his true self. By doing that he would rid himself of the constant fear that she would discover it uninvited by ripping off his mask herself.... 


	18. Mon Ange

Christina had gone home to continue resting. She had made him promise to visit her that night in her dreams. She had anxiously told him she would worry about him if he did not. He had reluctantly agreed. He was the Phantom! He slipped into dreams uninvited and unexpectedly. In the past he would have silenced the offender with a silent threat of death for asking him to do something. But for her he would do anything. She had looked so small buried in all the black silk she was wearing. He loved her in something simple, her nightgown had looked lovely that night he had visited her. It wasn't covered with bows, or in a dark color. It was white and creamy and made her look soft. It did not make her look as fierce as she did in black silk. Before she had left him he had pondered whether to unmask then, but had thought against it. He should wait until she was stronger and well rested. He was just giving excuses to ease his mind, but they would not work for long. He needed to show her, and sooner the better.  
  
Christina slowly stepped down from the carriage with help from one of her servants. The rains had left a scent that smelled of moist jasmine flowers. Spring would arrive in only two months time. She sat down in a chair heavily when she reached the inside of the manor. Erik had looked hesitant about something. He rarely wore that look. She was too tired to think more deeply into it.  
  
Erik had grown impatient. The moon did not seem to rise that night, and the stars took their time coming out to flicker at the earth. In a sense night had fallen slowly over Paris. As soon as he was sure she had gone to sleep he swept himself up into her dreams. He entered her mind, slipping into the shadows of the dream world. She sat again by the fountain, her hand was dipped into the refreshing waters. She had bent down to drink from her hand when she spotted him. She abruptly pulled her hand from the water and smoothed the non-existent wrinkles on her nightgown, which got water all over her in her haste. He almost smiled.  
  
"Christina," He spoke softly. He slowly walked down towards her. He looked her over. Her blonde hair was lying softly around her shoulders in curls, and her blue eyes were framed by long lashes. Her lips were full and lovely. She was wearing a different nightgown that night. It was creamy and had long flowing sleeves and a comfortably tight bodice. She looked like an angel.  
  
"Good evening," Christina answered, a bright smile flickered on her face. His face was etched in seriousness, and his eyes were heavy with some great thought. Her smile faded. She gazed at her lap.  
  
"You are angry with me?" She asked.  
  
"No Christina," Erik shook his head. He was surprised how quickly the conversation had changed. "What sign have I given you that would make you think so?"  
  
"You did not say much when I left this afternoon," She was staring at her hands.  
  
"I was in deep thought," He smiled down at her. She was still quiet. Unusual for her. "Does something else trouble you?"  
  
"No, Erik. I was just wondering if something was troubling you," Christina said meekly. He frowned. She read him well, too well.  
  
"It is true," He said solemnly. She began to say something, but he held up his hand. "But first I must ask you a question,"  
  
"Anything," She murmured. She was looking up at him with that all too familiar look of curiosity. She looked just like Christine in that split second. He almost lost his nerve. Imagine him, the Opera Ghost losing his nerve when he had brought down chandeliers, and strangled men with out thought or pity. He shifted his stance.  
  
"Why......," He began trying to gain back his confidence. "Why have you never asked me about my...face?" He was serious. She looked at him, tilting her head slightly as she pondered her answer.  
  
"What is there to ask?" She said softly. She looked into his eyes. He softened, but then realized he could not be swayed by her sweet face. He had to show her.  
  
"Everything," He said. "Why would I wear this mask?! What do I have to hide?!" He said loudly, his voice echoing strangely. She lifted her chin. He hadn't intended to shout at her. He was going about this all wrong.  
  
"I would not ask you," Christina said raising her voice to match his. "I could not," She stood and faced him.  
  
"Why?!" He asked. His voice sounded tortured. His eyes were dulled with pain. He had endured with the face God had given him and for what? He was frightened of even himself when he gazed in the mirror.  
  
"Because I know what happened before Erik. I don't want to be the one to rip the mask off. I know how that story ends!" She said painfully. She wanted to desperately go to him, to comfort him somehow. She wanted to ease his pain. She would have taken on his pain if it was at all possible.  
  
"I don't want you to be frightened," He said closing his eyes.  
  
"You can't control that, Erik," She said lowering her voice. She took a timid step towards him, and reached out her hand, still far away from him. Oh so far. "I can only say that whatever lies underneath that white mask is not going to affect my devotion to our... friendship," Christina whispered. Friendship... was that it? Was that what sparked when they touched hands?  
  
"Christina, I could not do that to you," He said. "I myself can not stand my appearance. This is not some fickle blemish," His voice was intense.  
  
"I know how the fear haunts you Erik. It is something you feel you cannot control. But I will not desert you, not ever," Her face shone with resolve. She wasn't going anywhere. "Show me what lies beneath that mask only when you are ready," She stepped closer to him. She placed her soft hand against his good cheek. He reached up and clasped it.  
  
"Thank-you mon ange, my angel," Erik gazed into deeply into her eyes. He placed her fingers to his lips, and lightly kissed them. She blushed a deep beautiful hue of delicate pink...  
  
A/N: I'm sure all the ladies are seething at me for not letting them kiss...it will come just give it a few more chapters...sorry again guys... 


	19. Sweet Embrace

A/N: Wow! I didn't know I'd get so much response for an unintended cliff hanger...I'll have to write more of those into the story! Lol...  
  
...Christina didn't know when she had felt so much love and passion for one person. Until Erik had come along she'd be alone with her own thoughts and visions for the future. She stood with his arms wrapped around her for what seemed like hours. They were still standing beside the fountain, content to gaze into each other eyes. She leaned her head into his chest. They were still in the dream world, but yet it felt lovely to be in each other's arms. She could not explain it any other way. Erik brushed his fingers against a silky curl that lay on her shoulder.  
  
"Are you happy?" He asked softly.  
  
"Am I happy?" She smiled as she tipped her face up to look at him properly. "Yes," She whispered. "...Are you?" She asked her eyes flickered with uncertainty.  
  
"Hmmm," He nodded. She placed her hand in his, and lifted it up to show him.  
  
"Amazing how two different people can...befriend one another," She said shyly. Ah so she was still using that term. He'd thought they passed that. Was she feeling for him as he did for her? How he wished he could read her mind, or that look that passed through her eyes each time she was near him. He looked down at her. She was comparing his palm to hers.  
  
"Ange, angel," He said. She lifted her eyes to meet his. He thought against forcing her to declare what her feelings were for him. That would abruptly end whatever connection they had with each other. "You...are beautiful," He said. A pink blush crept up her cheeks. She averted her eyes.  
  
"Thank you," She whispered. She stepped away from his embrace and walked slowly around the fountain, dipping her fingertips in the cool waters. He followed her placing his hands on her shoulders, and turning her towards him. Her face burned with the lingering blush. She closed her eyes and smiled. He gently traced the curve of her face with his thumb.  
  
"Have you always been this way," She said laughing, and breaking away from him.  
  
"What way?" He hated letting her slip away from him, but he let her go without complaint.  
  
"Do you pursue women this way all the time?"  
  
"Not all the time. Only when they happen to be...very special," He smiled. She shook her head at him still grinning.  
  
"I'd better go," He whispered gathering her back into his arms. She allowed herself to be placed comfortably back in his strong embrace, but she avoided looking into his eyes afraid she would loose her senses and kiss him. Not that she didn't want to, or longed to. She was afraid that he would hate her forever if she was ever that personal with him. A kiss wasn't something you could take back... 


	20. Ink Stains

A few days later Christina sat at a writing desk desperately wishing she was not blind. She had been trying to pen down some thoughts that would make lovely poems once she could sort out the rhyme and verse. She'd knocked over the ink pot, spilt ink all over her black dress, and dropped the quill that had ink on it on a very expensive rug. She was getting very frustrated. A patient servant was standing nearby cleaning the messes she had made.  
  
"What's the point Jean?" She asked feeling defeated.  
  
"Point, madam?" He asked.  
  
"Oh never mind," Christina frowned.  
  
"Don't worry your writing will get better. Not many people with eye problems such as yours would attempt this. You should be proud you have gotten this far," Jean encouraged still scrubbing the rug.  
  
"It looks bad doesn't it," She said holding up the piece of paper. He looked up and surveyed the damage she had done to the page. There were ink blotches everywhere. Her French penmanship had been exquisite when she was young, but now it looked like a scribble. He could barely make out what she had tried to write. Something about love?  
  
"It looks lovely madam," He smiled. She still looked uncertain. "I promise," He lied, trying to boost her confidence.  
  
"So if I sent it out to lets say a wealthy family inviting them to a ball I was holding at my estate, they would be wowed at the loveliness of my writing and skill?" She asked. She was trying to playfully trap him. She knew the page probably looked awful.  
  
"Point taken," Jean said, leaning back over to scrub the rug again.  
  
"So it looks pretty bad?"  
  
"...Yes, madam," Jean hesitated.  
  
"I thought so," She smiled finally. "I probably look a picture, the ink's probably everywhere on me," She said holding up her arms.  
  
"Yes, it is," He laughed looking up at her again.  
  
"I give up," She said laughing too. She sobered quickly and scooted her chair back. "Sorry about the rug," She felt around for her cane, and when she found it she left the room. Jean smiled to himself as she exited.  
  
"Not to worry madam," He said.  
  
Christina sat down a few minutes later in her room. She had to change her dress before going out again. Daniella would be along shortly. It had felt wonderful to laugh at herself. Spilling ink on the floor was not something a lady was supposed to do regularly. Her staff was wonderful, they adapted to her needs and didn't make fun of her when she spilled something or destroyed something accidentally. Her thoughts slowly turned to her grandparents. Their graves were covered with snow when she had visited them yesterday. She had not cried. That was the first time she had not. Her heart ached sorely for she did miss them, but she did not cry as much as she had. It was time, she thought. She could not wear black anymore. She had to move on. Her heart begged her to do so... 


	21. Little Rose

A/N: I'm sorry about that last chapter. It lacks the usual gracefulness that most of them possess. You know us regular submitters get kind burned out sometimes, but I shall continue and strive on...lol. You'll like this next chapter better, believe me! ;-)  
  
Christina entered the Opera House depths self-consciously tugging on the elegant sleeve of her soft lilac colored gown. By the time Daniella had gotten her dressed, and done her hair the sky had darkened and deepened in its blue hue. Her heart beat faster, with every step she took she was getting closer to Erik. What would he say about her appearance? Though she could not see him, Erik had his back turned to her. He was concentrating on writing down a piece of music that had been in his head for some time.  
  
"Erik," She called out softly. He did not turn.  
  
I'm here," He said. She followed the sound of his voice which brought her close to where he sat at his organ. She found his shoulder and placed her hand on it gently.  
  
"What are you doing?" She asked.  
  
"Composing," He said not looking up. She nodded. "Are you well?" He asked out of habit.  
  
"Yes," She whispered. She seemed nervous. Her perfume sweetened the air around them. Erik's eyes suddenly went to her hand on his shoulder. His head slowly turned as his gaze traveled up her hand, and arm, to her face. He turned all the way around to get a better look at her.  
  
"You're not wearing black," He said. He looked at her dress. It was beautiful. The soft color brought out the color of her eyes. The sleeves were long and silky, the bodice was tight and accented her small hips. The skirt was full, and pearls were placed all along the hem. The neckline was low, but it was covered by lace which made it modest. Small pearl clips were inserted into her curly blonde hair that was let down to her waist. She looked beautiful.  
  
"No," She said softly. "I believe it is time. My grandparents would want me to move on," Her eyes filled with tears. One slipped down her cheek. He gently wiped it away with his thumb.  
  
"Christina, don't cry. You've wept too much over these past months," He soothed.  
  
"I'm sorry," She said turning away from him. "I'm a disgrace," She hated herself for being so weepy.  
  
"No no, mon rose," He whispered. "Don't say that," He gently turned her around to face him. "Never say that,"  
  
"Erik," She fingered the ring that still hung on the chain around her neck. "You're being so kind to me. Why?"  
  
"Shhh," He quieted her. "Because I care," He leaned closer to her. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. Her hair smelled like summer roses. "Mon fleur, my flower," She reluctantly allowed him to gently tip her chin up towards him. "Because I care," He repeated softly. Her heart beat rapidly. She could see nothing, but felt his presence deeply. Was he going to kiss her?  
  
A/N: You all probably hate me right now... yep another cliffhanger! *dodges tomatoes* 


	22. The Cold Moon

A/N: Doesn't this sound like the relationships in our world today? All the confusion about love...well this just goes to show you, it's been going on for a lot longer than we think... ya'll are probably hating me for making them almost kiss again, but I promise you this is the last time. I'm trying to draw out the story to it's full potential and not just end it just like that. So sorry again... oh and in response to SKYwalker-BLUE, since I haven't seen the musical yet, its really hard to figure out the details of the lair...so I am so sorry!!!!  
  
Christina felt Erik hands slip away from her shoulders. Her heart sank as he stepped away. He wasn't going to kiss her. She bit her lip as she felt more tears sting and prick her eyes.  
  
"You're so lovely," He breathed. He clasped her hand gently. A frown replaced the serene smile on her lips.  
  
"I must go home," She said pulling away from him. "Good night Erik!" She said anger pouring through her words. If she was attractive to him why did he not kiss her! She stormed from the room as quickly as she could. It would not do for her to crash into a wall, because she did not use her cane properly. Erik winced each time her cane connected with the stone floor.  
  
"Good night, Mon ange," He whispered. He knew exactly why she was angry at him, and she had a right to be. He had given so many signals that he was going to kiss her, and then he had pulled back. He couldn't kiss her. He wasn't going to terrify her with his twisted lips. He'd made the mistake before, and wasn't going to do it twice. If she wished to put herself through it she would have to bring her lips to his. He could not bear it if he kissed her himself and she did not return it. That would ruin him. She was so intoxicating, her beauty was wondrous. But, he mused, that wasn't why he was attracted to her. Her beauty was appealing yes, but he loved her heart, it held secrets and visions he longed to be apart of. Her anger had stirred his heart, it hurt him. If she knew how much he longed to kiss her, he was sure she would not be so offended...  
  
Christina sat defeated in the carriage. She should not have been so angry with him. What had happen to her resolve to let him kiss her when he felt the time was right? Passion had flooded her senses just as she'd feared. She gotten caught up in it and it had swept her away. Erik was not to blame. It was her own heart. She furiously wiped a tear away from her cheek. It was her fault! She cried bitterly. That night the moon was cold, and her dreams were empty... 


	23. Petit Ange

A/N: I realize we'd rather know about Erik *gets dreamy eyed* but I figure we need to go deeper into Christina's past. She is after all falling for Erik *still dreamy eyed* so we need to know about his love's past...*rubs tired eyes, and then keeps typing...yawn*  
  
Christina could not sleep that night. Guilt washed over her like a waterfall. She ached with sorrow. She wished she had not responded so horribly to Erik. She clutched the sheet, her knuckles grew white. Her eyes were wet with tears. "Oh Erik," She whispered. Her long blonde hair lay in tangles spread all over her pillow. She rubbed the ring he had given her. It had become something of a charm to her. It never left her. She closed her eyes. She had tried sleeping, maybe if she closed her eyes she could think of something other than the sound of his voice. Her mind drifted back to a time when she had been truly happy...  
  
"You can't catch me, Grandpapa!" Little Christina giggled. She raced across the green grass barefoot. Her long dress tripped her and she fell into the soft grass. She laughed, and rolled around. Someone lifted her gently up off the dirt.  
  
"Oh child you are going to make your mama mad if you get yourself all dirty," Raoul smiled fondly at her. She bit her lip, and looked up at him with her wide blue eyes. He brushed grass out of her bouncy blonde curls.  
  
"But if we both get dirty maybe your mama will not say anything," He said a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Ok," She whispered as if worried someone would hear in the wide meadow.  
  
"Ready...set....go!" He said. She hurried off as fast as her small legs would carry her. The raced across the tall grasses and around trees. When he finally caught her he picked her up and began to tickle her. Her giggles echoed loudly. They finally lay back into the grass and looked up at the clouds.  
  
"What's that look like?" He pointed up. She squinted like her grandmamma up at the puffy white clouds.  
  
"A horse," She replied after much consideration.  
  
"And that?" He pointed at another.  
  
"A face," She said. "What about that one, grandpapa?" She pointed her little pudgy finger up at the sapphire sky.  
  
"An apple,"  
  
"It does not," She squinted again.  
  
"Well then what does it look like to you?"  
  
"A horse,"  
  
"I think your looking at a different cloud,"  
  
"No," She said stubbornly. He hid his smile. He reached over and tousled her blonde hair.  
  
"Do you like the summer château?" He asked her.  
  
"Yes, Grandpapa," Christina said softly. He had worried about her. Her mother, father, and uncle's deaths had deeply affected the child. He was affected by grief also. Losing his son and daughter had been a deep gash in his heart. That had been two years ago. His daughter Rose had been a beautiful woman, she had inherited his sandy blonde hair, and blue eyes. His son Vincent had gotten his mother's looks, the lovely brown hair, and green eyes. When Robert had come knocking on their door requesting to court Rose it had been a shock to Raoul. His little girl had grown up. They had married a year later, and in only nine months after that Christina had been born. Her given name had been Christine, but with two Christines in the same room it got very confusing. So he nicknamed her Christina. He turned his head to look at her better. She had been accepting of them when they had adopted her. He was still in his prime so he could look after her. Christine fussed over the little girl like she was her own. The hole in Christine's heart would eventually heal, with her granddaughter's cheerful spirit it would heal even quicker. Losing Vincent and Rose had been very trying on him. He had wept for days. Both his children, dead. Now only two years after three deaths, they were beginning to heal. He watched as little Christina's eyes grew wide as a dragonfly whistled by them. Christine had been quiet today. Her good morning greeting to Christina had been dampened by something. Her eyes had looked tired. They were getting older of course. Grey streaks had found themselves in her long silky brown hair. How he wished he could turn back time and freeze them all as a family forever. He knew things were bound to happen to them, but at least they were happy now.  
  
"Come on, we'd better go feed the ducks on the lake. Grandmamma might worry if we don't get back in an hour,"  
  
"Oui Grandpapa," She said pleasantly. Her blonde curls bounced as she sat up off the grass. Her small frame had made an indention in the grass. "We don't need snow to make ange, angels, do we Grandpapa?" She said her eyes wide at the little "angel" she had made in the soft grass.  
  
"That's right, mon ange," He smiled down at her. He took her hand and they hurried off to the lake to feed the ducks... 


	24. The Angel's Song

A/N: I own the song. Please forgive me if the song stinks, try to hear it from Erik's heart. Again, since I have not seen the Phantom of the Opera it's hard for me to envision him singing it and think about what he might sing other than the music of the night and the phantom song...again forgive my lyrics, I am no Andrew Lloyd Webber...  
  
Erik began to hum song. It amused him. He had never before hummed anything. He'd always let the song flow effortlessly from his lips. Humming had always seemed a crude way to express music. He smiled slightly. He flipped through his stack of past musical endeavors. He picked up a sheet that he'd been working on recently. He had written down many pointless musical notes on that page, and now they seemed to be coming together. He sat back down at his organ. He pounded out the notes at first, but then he slowed and began to play them more gracefully. His humming soon turned into words. Everything about his latest masterpiece was coming together...  
  
Sweet irrepressible sounds flow through my mind  
  
Say you'll come to me my little angel  
  
And lift your celestial voice to me  
  
I need you my little angel  
  
I need your lovely light to shine for me  
  
Through the darkness you may guide me  
  
With the voice you call your own  
  
My little angel...  
  
Erik let the sound from the organ slowly fade. It was nothing he'd ever written before. It was extremely different from Don Juan Triumphant. He closed his eyes and hummed the song again. It floated through his mind. It was perfect. Nothing needed to be changed...  
  
Christina was slowly moved her hand on the pillow. Her eyes opened. The memory of her grandpapa had been so vivid. She smiled slightly. Her grandpapa had been so kind to her. Then it occurred to her. It was strange that Erik called her his Mon Ange, as her grandpapa once had. She lifted her head off the pillow. Her thoughts had cleared the lonely night had forced her to realize reality without Erik. Her eyes grew distant as she thought of him. She remembered him from her dream. He had stood there all in black except for his mask. He had looked majestic, terrible, and yet so gentle and approachable all at once. He had been enveloped in light and shadow. The emotions of love and hate had crossed his face. He was the maker of all music...and she loved him... 


	25. Recollections

A/N: It came to my mind that some people don't like Raoul and think him a fop. Well I actually looked up the word and here's the definition I got: fop: a man who is excessively concerned with his clothes and appearance. ORIGIN originally in the sense 'fool'. Hahaha! Poor Raoul *dodges tomatoes and voodoo Raoul dolls* I love Erik waaaaaaay more believe me! But I felt it was necessary to show Raoul as a loving grandfather and husband for this tale. By the way I shall be seeing "Erik" via Broadway very soon! It shall be music of the night up close and personal!!!!! *swoons*  
  
Erik listened to the sound of footsteps echoing off the damp stones. Christina had come to him at last. Their last interaction had been five days earlier, and he had missed her sorely. She appeared in the darkness. Today she was dressed in a deep scarlet color; a black shawl graced her shoulders. Her hair was braided and twisted up into a bun. Renegade curls escaped the braid and framed her face.  
  
"Erik," She said softly.  
  
"I am here," He said. He noticed she leaned heavily on her cane as if something was weighing her down.  
  
"I missed you," She smiled softly. He said nothing. He had missed her also. Would they be able to pick back off where they left behind? He didn't want to take the chance that he might lose her if he kissed her. She turned towards him, reaching out a hand so that she could find him. Being blind did not make her helpless. He made no move to help her find him. Her hand finally rested on his arm, he did not back away. Erik tried not to flinch. Her warm touch was too intoxicating for him to bear. "I must say Erik how I was wrong to be angered," She said quickly. He started to speak, but she cut him off. "I was wrong," She said again. That silenced him. He silently looked at her.  
  
"I'm sorry," She whispered. He turned her gently towards him.  
  
"There is nothing to be sorry about, all is forgiven," He said. He saw her breathe a sigh of relief. So that had been what was bothering her. He smiled down at her. "Did you truly miss me?" He asked her.  
  
"Yes," She whispered. The scent of her rose up and met him. She smelled like roses. He closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of her soft breathing. They embraced for a moment and then backed away, not knowing what to do with themselves. She left him a few moments later almost collapsing in the carriage with relief. What irony she loved him yet she could not bear his presence. Like her grandmamma had said...  
  
"He is shadow. It is what he has always been," Christine sat on the blanket underneath a willow tree by her granddaughter. She had been telling her for the tenth time the story of Erik, the Phantom, and Christine the opera singer. But to Christina the ending had seemed wanting. It lacked a happily ever after for the main character.  
  
"But Grandmamma, what about Erik?"  
  
"What about him my darling?" Christine asked. Her eyes took on a far-off gleam to them.  
  
"He was alone,"  
  
"Yes, he was alone," She said softly. "He is still alone," She murmured.  
  
"Do you wish you would have stayed with him?" Christina asked her childlike echoing with wonder.  
  
"Oh honey that's a very...hard question to answer," Christine faltered. The leaves of the willow tree swayed in the light summer breeze. She gazed out over the blue waters of the lake. "I'll have to tell you when you get older,"  
  
"I am older,"  
  
"That's right, you're nine," Christine smiled back at her petite granddaughter. She looked so much like Rose. She blinked back tears. Even after all these years she still wanted to weep. To lose so many lives in one blow, it had been devastating. Raoul and Christina had been her only comforts through the years. Raoul. How he had loved her. She loved him. The thought of Erik haunted her still, the image of him swam in her mind. She had glanced back at him when they were leaving in the boat across the dark lake in the depths of the Opera House. He had been standing there watching them depart, his black cape majestically thrown to the floor by his feet. His face had been what had haunted her. His eyes were dulled with pain, and his mouth was twisted into...a frown? No it hadn't been a frown. His mouth had been set in a hard resolved line. As if he had known all along what she was going to do, and who she was going to choose. She longed to jump in the water and swim back to him and cling to him. Her heart knew her place, though. She knew she must go. Go with Raoul. Go to the light! Her heart had longed for Erik many times, but she knew she had made the correct decision. If only life was one path, and you knew what the right choice was, because there was only one choice to make. Instead there was this bizarre crooked path with boulders and holes in it. You always were making choices that forever changed your life.  
  
"I hope Erik's found someone," Christina said suddenly interrupting Christine's thoughts.  
  
"I do, too," Christina whispered. 


	26. Lover's Song

A/N: I own the song. I hope you like it!  
  
She had come to him in the middle of the night a few days later saying she could not sleep. He had not slept either. He'd lain hoping that sleep would claim him, but it never did. He'd angrily thrown back the covers of his bed, and stormed over to his organ hoping playing rigorous would make him sleepy. It didn't. It made him become wide awake. He cursed out loud. He heard a muffled noise of surprise. Erik whirled around to see he was not alone. Christina was there standing behind him blushing a deep red. What a time to use language! He gingerly took her arm and led her to a lone chair.  
  
"Forgive me Mon ange," He apologized. She smiled good naturedly in the direction of his voice.  
  
"That isn't the first time I've heard those words," She said. He arched a brow.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No matter," She waved him off as though it wasn't a problem. He placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Tell me why you could not sleep," He kneeled down to be on her level.  
  
"No reason, I kept thinking about the past that's all," She replied.  
  
"You're beginning to sound like me, thinking about the past to often,"  
  
"So often it becomes almost real...," She agreed.  
  
"You can almost touch it," He murmured. "What memory from the past do you remember?" He asked.  
  
"Oh," She smiled. "I remember the time when I first heard my grandmamma sing," She began to tell him the story, weaving it like an expert story- teller...  
  
Christina sat by her grandmother's vanity table. Christine was brushing her long brown hair with a special ruby incrusted handled brush that Raoul had given to her for her birthday one year.  
  
"Grandmamma," Christina said slowly. She sat Indian style on the plush carpet watching her grandmother. Her dress was wrinkled in spots from sitting in the very unlady-like position for so long. She fiddled with the itch lace hem of her dress. Christine glanced down at her granddaughter through the mirror of the vanity.  
  
"Yes, mon petit?"  
  
"Grandpapa keeps humming this song, and he won't tell me what the words are. He keeps saying "I'll tell you when you're older! I'm nine!" She complained. Christine hid a smile.  
  
"Oh, well hum the tune and I'll see if I can tell you what the words are," She replied pleasantly heading off Christina's bad mood. Christina began humming a tune that was very familiar to her grandmother.  
  
"Your grandpapa is right, I cannot tell you what the words are mon petit,"  
  
"Are they naughty?" Christina asked eagerly.  
  
"Non!" Christine replied sharply. "You are too willing to submit your little ears to evil things, shame," She had to try her hardest not to smile at the impish little grin that crossed her granddaughter's face. "Run along and see if you can't get grandpapa to take you on Vedette," She shooed her granddaughter off out of her dressing room. Ah yes Raoul would have a splendid time taking the chattering child out on her pony. They had named her star, or Vedette. She smiled at the tune Raoul had hummed so fervently in front of Christina. The words were seared on her heart. They had sung the song to each other on the wedding day. It was very special to her. It was called My Love. She began to hum the song out loud, and then the humming became words. She still remembered them after all those years.  
  
"Take me into your arms sweet love. So I can be warm this cold night," She sang. She closed her eyes and remembered how the veil had been placed on her head, and the look Raoul had on his face when he saw her in her wedding gown.  
  
"Oh love me this cold night sweet one. I need you my darling to be with me till the stars leave the sky," She smiled. She did not see Christina peeking through a crack in the door listening to her sing.  
  
"Till the dawn comes and the sun brings another day. Stay with me my love," She sang.  
  
"Oh our love will linger on even after we are gone. You are the moon and I am the sun and we will dwell together my love," She clasped her hairbrush as if it was her heart. Tenderly she sang part of the last verse.  
  
"For even as we grow old our love will not wan," Her voice held the note. Christina felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Raoul smiled humorously down at her. She'd been caught! Raoul gently pushed her in the direction of the stables, and then he entered Christine's dressing room and sang the last line with her. Christine looked up surprised to see her husband, but she continued the song.  
  
"Oh our love shall never wan, for to you, my love I will be true," They sang. Christina was still was peeking outside the door. So this was the song her grandfather had hummed so many times. It was beautiful. She watched as Raoul clasped Christine's hand and turned her towards him. They swayed to some silent melody. Christine rested her head on Raoul shoulder...  
  
"That is a wonderful memory," Erik said softly after she finished.  
  
"You linger in your memories also, what one do you remember the most?" She queried. He sighed and drew back from her. How could she ask such a question? What memory did he not linger in? They were all dark, and he did not wish to tell her any of them.  
  
"I do not think it would be wise to tell you," He replied gently.  
  
"If you ever do wish to tell me, Erik, I will listen," She smiled softly.  
  
"I know Mon ange," He said looking away from her into the darkness. "I know," 


	27. When You Sleep

A/N: I will be seeing POTO this weekend in NYC, so I won't be updating for a while...sorry! I will have a ton of fun! Sorry to leave ya'll hanging! Read and review please!  
  
Erik sat in the shadows. The darkness he had known for many years was all around him. He enjoyed the dank smell of the lair. He never wanted to leave his home. He laid his head back against the wall. He had not been above ground for many years. At least not until Christina had grown ill. He smiled in remembrance. The cold rain had soaked them thoroughly, and lighting and thunder did battle above them in the sky. He had felt her heart beat against his chest. She was so frail, so little. Her hair had felt soft and silky against his skin. She was like a tiny kitten, and he was a hawk. She had trusted him with her life, and he had not failed her. He would never fail her. Ever. Her voice was inside his head, the touch of her sweet hands against his arm, and the lingering perfumed scent that enveloped her was with him during the lonely hours of the night even though she was not there. If he had not truly cared for Christine the ever present thought of her would have driven him mad. He smiled in the darkness. Christina...  
  
Christina's eyes flew open. Had her name been called? Something had awakened her. She tried to calm her beating heart. She felt like a fawn who had just heard the gunshot of the hunter. She had heard him call her voice, but yet she knew he was not in the room. Her breathing became regular, and she closed her eyes. Her mind stayed alert. She stroked the ring, its familiar satin feeling calmed her. She sighed. The past weeks and months that she had known Erik had been confused. She felt like a leaf in a whirlpool spinning out of control. Yet when she realized she loved him she didn't feel any less confused. Her heart loved and yet feared him. She smiled softly. Her darling Erik. She slowly drifted off to sleep her fingers curled around the ring.  
  
Erik had fallen asleep. He was dreaming. He was sitting at his organ playing a melody He could not remember the name. Christina was behind him swaying the music. She was dancing like a child would in a summer meadow. It was a lovely graceful dance. He found himself relaxing. So this was no nightmare. He stopped playing and had turned to face Christina. She came near, her blonde hair cascading down her back. Christina placed her hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him. Suddenly her sweet smile turned almost sour, as if it was plastered on. His heart beat quickened as Christina inched her hand up his arm and rested it on his mask. This did not seem to be something that the real Christina would do. Erik gently grasped her hand and tried to pull it away. But her hand would not move. Her features changed and suddenly her face was different. He recognized her. It was his mother! She wrenched her hand free of his and tore away his mask. Erik heard a terrible scream that put goose bumps up his spine. He realized it was his own... 


	28. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

A/N: My weekend was magical. Thursday night I saw The Phantom of the Opera in New York City. I was so sad because I found out when I went to the Majestic Theater that Hugh Panaro would not be performing that night. I should not have been. David Gaschen took the place of the Phantom. His voice was pure magic. It was beautiful. He played it almost exactly how I would have had Erik be played. His website is www.davidgaschen.com (no I do not own that site...lol) He was wonderful! Sandra Joseph made a lovely and enchanting Christine Daae. If anyone has any more information on David please give it to me!!! I would love to write him a letter or try to get his autograph. Thanks again to my loyal readers and reviewers! I don't own the stranger than you dreamt it song.  
  
The Phantom of the Opera  
  
Majestic Theatre  
  
247 West 44th Street  
  
New York, NY 10036  
  
"LEAVE ME BE!" Erik screamed at the woman. Suddenly the bizarre blackness of the nightmare was gone replaced by the dim light of candles by his bed. His hands curled around the sheets and tightened as if he was trying to strangle them. His breathing was heavy and he was shaking. His mask was off his face and had fallen several feet away from his bed as if it had been thrown. Warm tears fell from his eyes streaking down his cheeks, landing in his hands.  
  
"Why...?" He cried. His sobs racked his body with intense force. "Why!" He shouted at the darkness. He lay there for several minutes unable to move. Agony washed over him. His body shook with exhaustion. If any other person had heard them they would have wept even if they hadn't known his plight. His weeping was the mournful cry of an abandoned and forlorn being. Erik suddenly ripped the sheets away from his body, slipped from the bed and crawled on the floor towards his mask. He cradled it in his hands like it was something precious. His crying had now reduced to whispered sobs. He suddenly remembered something. Something about this situation caught his memory, like breathing in the scent of the ocean from a sea shell and yet being miles from the ocean. Ah yes. He remembered why it seemed so familiar. Christine. He could remember her sweet fingers suddenly flinging the flimsy protection of his face from him that next morning in the lair after he had brought her there. They had both fallen to the floor, and as he had crawled to her he had sung to her. Trying to convince her of a truth that not even he believed. The words were coming back to him now...  
  
Stranger than you dreamt it Can you even dare to look?

Or bear to think of me This loathsome Gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly

Yearns for heaven

Secretly... Secretly...  
  
But Christine...  
  
Fear can turn to love You'll learn to see, To find the man behind the monster, This repulsive carcass,

Who seems a beast, But secretly dreams of beauty

Secretly... Secretly...  
  
A single tear drifted down his horrid cheek. He flung it away and replaced the mask to its rightful position. His mother could haunt him from her grave if she wished. No longer would he be prone and weak to her spiteful lust to torment him. Never again...  
  
A/N: I now have the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack cd (not the highlights version! ALL OF IT!) So I can play and write at the same time. It helps me get in the mood and remember the beautiful majestic sights I once beheld as I watched The Phantom on Broadway! Review please!!!


	29. Maskquerade

"Madam something has been delivered to you," Jean said to his young mistress. Christina slowly turned in her chair at his words. Her curly hair fell against her shoulders as she turned.  
  
"For me?" She asked in wonder. No one had given thought to the grieving lady since her grandfather had died. How she wished she could see whatever it was. It must be grand. Jean placed it delicately in her lap. Her fingers sought over the object trying to "see" what it was. She felt the soft leathery feel of a petal.  
  
"A single rose," Jean pointed out. Christina nodded as she felt the bite of a thorn. She breathed in the scent. A rose! In winter? Who could have done this?  
  
"There is a letter my lady," Jean spoke stirring her from her reverie.  
  
"What does it say?" She asked. She heard the rustling of parchment paper being opened. Jean cleared his throat. It was not his voice, but Erik's that she heard as the letter was read...  
  
Christina,  
  
Fondest greetings to you my dear. I trust you are well. Visit me soon, child of heaven. The gift which I sent is beautiful, but nothing can compare to your lovely features, Mon Rose.  
  
Your obedient friend and angel,  
  
O.G  
  
Christina would have laughed out loud if Jean had not been present. O.G! Opera Ghost! She had told him that Christine once spoken of the stories of his letters to the managers of the Opera so long ago. And now he was trying to make her laugh! Of course he knew though that the letter would not be private since she was blind she had to have someone read it to her. So he had been brief, it did not matter to her. She had not been with him for many days. He must have missed her...  
  
Erik fingered the dirty fabric that had once belonged to Christine's wedding gown. He had held it with him since he had found it. As if it would bring him good luck. He began humming a tune that had been with him ever since he had heard it. It was a laughable mockery that he himself had not composed it. His mouth silently shaped the words, and then as if giving in he whispered the song to the darkness...  
  
Masquerade!  
  
Paper faces on parade...  
  
Masquerade!  
  
Hide your face so the world will never find you!

Masquerade!  
  
Every face a different shade...  
  
Masquerade!  
  
Look around there's another mask behind you!  
  
He smiled with the memory. The masquerade ball had been a glorious night at the Opera House indeed. Everyone dressed in different costumes. Christine had looked lovely as usual. Raoul had been hovering by her all evening. They had looked splendid together he had to admit. The Vicomte de Chagny and Miss Christine Daae. A dashing pair. He snorted. He had never liked Raoul. But as long as Christine remained happy, he did not...could...not care. And then he had appeared and spoiled the evening for them. He smiled again. How he could look back on the tragedy with humor was beyond him, but then the past was dead to him now. He would not let it consume him again. Then he remembered the monkey playing the cymbals on the music box he had once cherished; Christina had loved that, too. When the mob had come they had taken it away from his home. He had sorely missed its silent companionship, even if it was just an object of fake fur and metal. He sighed and placed the scrap of white silk back into a small pocket inside his cape. Such memories a meaningless piece of cloth could envoke...


	30. The Broken Mirror

A/N: Ok someone asked me if I liked Don Juan, forgive me it is late and I've been busy all day and I'm tired, I'm sorry I can't remember who asked me. I absolutely loved the Don Juan scene. It was so passionate, especially "point of no return" song. That is probably my favorite song, oh and I loved the "stranger than you dreamt it" song. Ya'll are going to hate me, but I'm not having them kiss...yet. But you do want the story to be long don't you, because what's the point if I just end it right now? Sorry again...(ducks and avoids being hit by Raoul posters!) Tell me if I'm dragging it out, or if this chapter is awful...your obedient friend and angel (I just find this hilarious, that Erik would say he was obedient! Yeah right!)  
  
Erik stood by an object that was draped with a large piece of cloth. He ripped it away. Dust flew up in great grey clouds around him. He waved it away. His eyes were focused on something behind all the dust. It was a large broken mirror. It looked as dejected as he had once felt. The shards of glass that were still in place were menacing and sharp. He saw his reflection and looked away. He wasn't going to tempt himself. He longed to see if his deformity had changed, but he knew it hadn't. It was a longing that took hold of him in the pit of his dark soul. Had the goblin turned into a prince? He smiled darkly. He hadn't looked at the broken mirror for many years. Not since Christine... He stopped himself. He didn't want to think on it. He took his hand and smoothed it down the gold accents over the top of the mirror.  
  
"Erik," A voice called behind him. He recognized it even before he turned. Christina stood behind him.  
  
"Mon Ange," He greeted trying not to sound startled.  
  
"You must have been in deep thought not to have heard me," She smiled. He nodded and then realized she couldn't see his look of affirmation. So he voiced it instead.  
  
"Yes, I was," He walked towards her and timidly touched her hand, but then withdrew. The feeling of her soft skin against his calloused fingers was too much for him. She was too lovely to be touched. He cursed his previous actions. Touching her hand, kissing her fingertips, or embracing her. His heart was getting the better of him. He couldn't let himself get hurt again.  
  
"How are you Erik?" Her question was so pointed. He stiffened.  
  
"Well," He replied coldly.  
  
"Is that all?" She asked softly.  
  
"Yes," He turned away from her and studied the mirror. "And you?"  
  
"I am well also," She replied using the same cold tone. He almost smiled at her wittiness.  
  
"Come I want to show you something," He reached back, gently grasped her hand, and pulled her towards him. She came willingly. He placed her hand on the gold frame of the mirror.  
  
"It feels lovely," She commented. "What is it?"  
  
"A mirror. The only one I have down here," He said seriously.  
  
"Why?" She asked simply.  
  
"Do you think I wish to see my face every morning?" He snapped. He immediately chided himself. "Forgive me," He said softly  
  
"Where did you get the mirror?" She asked him pretending she had not heard his raised tone. She was startled, though, by the humble apology that had followed.  
  
"It was a gift from a sultan," Erik forced himself not to look into the many shards of the mirror.  
  
"Than the stories are true," She gasped.  
  
"Stories?"  
  
"Surely Erik you must know that by being a man who lives beneath the Opera House...well stories get circulated,"  
  
"Gossip," He nodded.  
  
"Yes. My grandmother did not know much about your past. She told me all she knew, and then some of the legends as well,"  
  
"I was an architect for a sultan once that is true. When I finished his palace he gave me this mirror," His voice grew cold. "I've always sensed that while the sultan was grateful for the job I had done, he hated me for my appearance,"  
  
"You think he gave you the mirror to mock you," Christina said softly.  
  
"That is what it seems," He smiled at her intelligence. He watched as Christina ran her hand into the groves carved into the gold frame.  
  
"The gold is so soft and smooth," She smiled. "It is like silk," He had to turn away. Her beauty was too great for him to bear. He bowed his head slightly. What was he doing? She should not be here with him. He was the beast and she was the beauty. She should go off and get married to a handsome prince. His features weren't going to change. He couldn't let her love him. He couldn't let himself... love her. Suddenly Christina's hand slipped from the frame of the mirror and fell against a sharp shard of glass. He heard a tiny gasp of pain.  
  
"Mon ange?" He turned to see what was amiss. Her face was pale, and her eyes were almost glassy. She was clutching the wounded palm tightly with her other hand. Blood was dripping onto her pale blue dress leaving sickening dark marks on the silk.  
  
"Erik," She whispered. She slowly looked down at her hand and then back up at him. He had only taken two steps toward her when she began crumpled to the ground. He caught her before she hit the hard stone. He cradled her gently in his arms.  
  
"Christina," He whispered softly in her ear. She had fainted. He sank down to the floor with her in his arms. The scent of lavender wafted gently over him. Her curly blonde hair lay over his arms. He softly pushed the curls away and lifted her white hand to inspect the damage. A gash ran crooked down the tender flesh. Blood was flowing rapidly. Why did she always get in these predicaments? He shook his head and looked tenderly down at her. Her lashes lay softly against her pale face, and her pink lips stood out against her white features. The necklace with the ring attached still lay around her neck. It was dirty with constant wear. He smiled. She had loved his gift. It looked as if she hadn't even taken it off to clean it. It went well with all of her dresses, especially this one. The pale blue silk gave a lovely healthy glow to her skin. The sleeves were dripping with lace and tiny diamonds were sewn into the cloth. The bodice was tight as were the styles in Paris, the skirt was so long it touched the tip of her delicate shoes. Such a gentle angel of the light. He shuddered. He was a horrible creature of darkness and never should have touched her in the first place. But he could not leave her there so pitiful and helpless. He would not leave her. Didn't that count for something? Wouldn't anyone see he was trying to do something good? The blood from her hand caught his eye once more. It had splattered on the stones, making gruesome little puddles in the cracks of the rocks. He eased her from his arms and rested her head on the dusty cloth from the mirror. He looked around for a clean strip of cloth. The pristine white sheets from his own bed caught his eye. He strode over and ripped a small piece of cloth from it. He returned to her and gently wrapped the small palm in the white cloth.  
  
"Oh Erik," She murmured. Her head turned. He looked down at her.  
  
"I'm here Mon Ange," He whispered. He finished wrapping the cloth around the wound. Hopefully it would stop the bleeding.  
  
"I feel so foolish," She said wetting her dry lips. She winced as she tried to move her fingers.  
  
"You could not help what happened,"  
  
"Why were you not there?" She asked weakly. As soon as she had spoken those words she wished she could have taken them back.  
  
"I'm sorry...I turned away for an instant," Erik said feeling tormented by helpless feelings. "Forgive me," How could have not been there to save her from pain?  
  
"I shouldn't have said that," She whispered. He took her good hand in his.  
  
"If only all things could be erased so easily," He said. She tilted her head.  
  
"Do you wish you could change the past," She said without thinking. What a foolish question. Of course he did!  
  
"Yes," Erik said softly. He gazed longingly at her mouth which moved with such grace when she spoke. Oh how wicked and sweet it would have been to steal a kiss at the moment. But what of Christina's feelings? He helped her sit up against the wall. She seemed to breathe easier. He looked lovingly down at her golden curls and sweet blind eyes. "Go home, Ange. A doctor should look at your hand,"  
  
"But Erik," She protested. She longed to be with him. Why did their meetings always get cut short?  
  
"I am no physician, child. Please, go home," He urged.  
  
"I will do as you ask," She said compliantly. He helped her up from the floor gently.  
  
"Visit me when you are well,"  
  
"I will," She promised. She gazed up at where she thought his face was for several moments. "Erik, I...," She began. He placed a finger over her lips.  
  
"Later, Mon Ange," He led her up to the surface, and stayed in the shadows of the creeping twilight watching her go.  
  
"Later..." He repeated to her retreating form. He watched as the driver got out and helped her into the carriage. How many times, he wondered, would he long for her tonight? It would be countless times. Countless as the stars up above them. He smiled. She was his little Ange of Ciel, angel of heaven... 


	31. Little Thoughts

A/N: Thanks for reviewing guys! It makes me smile every time I see one! For those of you who have been to NYC isn't Times Square amazing?! I also loved the Majestic Theater (that's where the Phantom is preformed) it's a beautiful theater. By the way I am very busy this weekend, but I will try to update as much as possible. Sorry it's short. Read and Review. Ok onward...  
  
Christina rubbed the dried up rose petals between her fingers. They crumpled into tiny pieces into her lap. She lifted what remained of the dead rose up to her face. She could smell the scent of spring as she breathed in the linger perfume it gave off. She couldn't bear to think she would have to through the rose away now that it was dead. It had been her companion for only a few days. It reminded her so much of Erik, she could smell the scent of the depths of the Opera House emanating from it. She winced as she moved her hand. What a foolish thing to do. She couldn't believe she had cut her hand that deeply. But then she hadn't known the mirror was broken. Why was the mirror broken? She didn't dare ask Erik for fear he would lash out at her. The subject of his mask and face were obviously ones not to broach with him. She could sense him stiffening every time she asked. What was so fearful about it? What was he afraid she would do if she ever "saw" what he revealed? She knew from the dark stories that her grandmother had told her that Erik's face was horribly disfigured on the left side. It was gruesome to look at. Christina knew that Erik hated to be pitied, and comforted about his hindrance, but sometimes Christina just wish she could wish those fears and boundaries away. When would she be able to just be with him without the mask in-between them?  
  
He had been tired of sitting and writing on his music. Imagine him the great master of the Opera House... tired of music. He grimaced at the thought. A little leather bound book had caught his eye. He picked it up. After several hours of reading Erik had poured through Christine's book of poems, from cover to cover. He hadn't wanted to miss a single word that she had written down. He'd almost forgotten what a thrill he'd gotten from reading words from his old love's past. So many insightful things were written in it. She had been intelligent after all. Always such a quiet child with her nose in a book unless she was singing or dancing. He smiled. He sat the book down. He'd read through it so many times he knew most of the words by heart for each poem. He sighed quietly. So much in his world had changed in the past few months. He never thought he would forget Christine for one moment. Now he kept catching himself dwelling on another young lady... 


	32. Magic Lasso

A/N: Ok for the rest of you guys. This is the darker side of Erik just to let you know. No he isn't going to forget about Christina and go on a "Jack the Ripper killing spree," lol. Don't worry I wouldn't do that to you! Read and Review (why am I asking that, ya'll always do!) Forgive me there really is no romance in this chapter (unless you count Erik's love for the Punjab Lasso, lol) Don't worry the romance will come!  
  
Erik had not walked the stage for many months. He had been content down in the depths of the Opera House, but now it seemed he needed to be free of the stone walls. He took great precautions of checking to make sure nothing was amiss or damaged by anything other than natural causes in the main theater. No intruders had come to disturb him. He finally drew in a sigh, after he found he was holding his breath. He could deal with them easily, but killing wasn't something he liked to do...anymore. Most of the mysterious deaths at the Paris Opera House had been sold to the public as accidents. Things like that happen in the theater, they said. Joseph Buquet's death however could not be labeled as an accident. He'd deliberately cross the line from where Erik was concerned. Buquet had once spoken out loud and threatened the shadows, where Erik had been standing out of sight, that if the Phantom bothered the ballet girls anymore he would kill Erik himself. He'd also been filling the half-witted ballet girls with all sorts of stories about the Phantom's face, and what truly lay behind the mask. He had warned Joseph through Madam Giry that if he did not cease his actions his life would be forfeit. The fool had continued down his pointless path. Erik had no choice. If he did not silence Buquet he would reveal that he knew of the entrance into the lair. Madam Giry had not been careful enough disguising where she had gotten the letters for the managers. He had not punished her. He had threatened her. If she wished her daughter to remain in the ballet chorus she would cover her steps, and never let anyone see her going to the entrance of the lair again. As for Joseph he died a quick and sudden death, Erik had been merciful. Before he had killed him, however, he'd done something he'd never done before to a victim. He could remember the scene as easily as any other memory...  
  
"Good Evening Monsieur Buquet," Erik said into the shadows. He knew Joseph was there, he always stayed at his post long enough to drink most of his container of spirits and then go and refill it. He hoped that Joseph had drunk enough to make himself sick. He smiled darkly.  
  
"Who's there," The slurred voice said back to him.  
  
"Friend, I've just come to talk with you about some...decisions I am hard pressed to make by tonight," Erik said staying in the darkness in front of Buquet.  
  
"Talk to someone who has time, I have a job to do!" Joseph was pretending to be busy, but his drunken movements were giving him away.  
  
"Oh, but you do have time Monsieur,"  
  
"No, I'm busy," He stumbled a bit.  
  
"You have time," Erik said darkly. Joseph stopped what he was doing and peered into the shadows where Erik was standing. "You have time enough to speak extensively on a subject you have no right to be dabbling with,"  
  
"You never told me your name, Friend," Joseph said harshly.  
  
"That is true," Erik smiled again. "But you seem to know the most interesting facts about me, Monsieur,"  
  
"What are you talking about? I don't know you!" He was starting to get anxious... good.  
  
"Oh but you think you do,"  
  
"I don't know what you mean," Joseph was losing his confidence.  
  
"So you've said... so I will say again that I think you do," Erik spoke in a soft harsh voice.  
  
"Monsieur Firmin will be angry with me if I don't continue my job so if you will excuse me...,"Buquet was backing away.  
  
"But I have not," Erik began slowly walking towards him still bathed in shadows.  
  
"I think you should go," Joseph whispered.  
  
"I have not finished speaking with you," He said as though he was hurt at Joseph's refusal to speak with him. "I've heard some rather...disturbing things about you Monsieur. It seems you like to tell rather elaborate stories about a certain man,"  
  
"The Phantom, good sir?" Joseph spoke up to soon, he winced at his mistake.  
  
"Why yes... That's exactly who I meant," Erik said.  
  
"Very interesting man, like a vampire he is," Joseph said. He probably was the kind of man who liked to hear his own voice and didn't think about what he was saying.  
  
"A vampire? Hunts in shadow you mean? Out for...blood?"  
  
"Y..yes," Buquet stuttered. "He is a murderer who kills without thought. He slits the throats of foolish girls who wander into the lair,"  
  
"Really? Are these the kind of stories do you tell the ballet girls?"  
  
"H..how did you know that?"  
  
"Answer the question!" Erik thundered in a loud whisper. He had to be careful. A performance was being put on and they were right above it in the rafters of the Paris Opera House. He could hear the strains of violins and flutes playing the ballet.  
  
"True...stories, good Monsieur," He stumbled, but did not fall.  
  
"True? How do you know they are true, Buquet?"  
  
"Because they are?" He offered feebly. Rage welled up in Erik's soul.  
  
"Fool!" He scoffed. "You don't know what is true!"  
  
"But how would you?" He mumbled in his defense. That was it. He had signed his own death sentence.  
  
"How would I!?" Erik forced himself to calm down. He drew in several deep breaths before he spoke again. "Tell me Monsieur, have you ever seen the Phantom's face?"  
  
"N ...no,"  
  
"So you speak of what you do not know!"  
  
"I...I," Joseph had nothing left to say as far as Erik was concerned.  
  
"I see," He spoke again in a haunted whisper. Buquet's eyes were wide with fear by now.  
  
"Please...," He pleaded. "I will be silent!"  
  
"You had your chance Buquet. Now you shall see what you have thought yourself a scholar on..." He entered into the dim lighting. Buquet was pinned. He had no where to run. Erik began to remove his mask a little at a time.  
  
"No!" Buquet was throwing his body against a locked door that led from the rafters to the safety of the stage.  
  
"I have no pity for you, for you showed none to me," He lifted the mask off entirely and Joseph's face contorted into wide eyed fear. He shook his head as Erik came toward him, the Punjab Lasso dangling in one hand. "You know what this is my friend...you seem to like speaking of it!"  
  
Joseph's death had shocked the Opera public. This proved the Phantom truly lived, and he was entirely real. He wasn't some cooked up story that had been passed around by the chattering ballet girls. Buquet was the last person Erik had ever killed, and for Christina's sake he would never murder again. He'd been startled when Buquet had described the Phantom as being a sort of vampire. Slitting throats! Indeed, the thought of it made his blood boil. He never killed innocent women. Now Carlotta would have been the only women he would have taken the pleasure in cutting her throat. The women acted like a bumbling queen bee. What a triumph it had been to humiliate her in front of all the Paris Opera goers. The croaking toad. The thought of her soprano voice rumbling out as a toad's cry almost made him smile. He wandered around in the shadows of the stage. The theater was in such as sad state it would embarrassing to the Managers, let alone the Architect. He brushed cobwebs away, and stared hard at the ground, underneath some of the dust on the floor of the stage was something hidden there. He cleared away the debris and picked it up. It was an elegantly written poster for the auction. The final "performance" to take place in the Opera House. Erik let the poster fall from his hands, it landed with a brush against the dust on the floor...  
  
A/N: Told you it was the darker side of Erik, hope it didn't gross anybody out, but since you're Erik lovers you know he is kind of creepy, in a romantic kind of way of course. 


	33. What is Freedom?

A/N: Read and Review... (Sighs) I'm so tired (busy weekend) but anyway sorry for not updating for a while...  
  
Erik climbed a secret stair up to the roof of the Opera House. Night had fallen over Paris. It was a deep kind of darkness, where the clouds hung low to the tops of church steeples as if it was preparing to let loose torrents of rain. He looked over the top of the rail gazing at the lights that made up Paris. He blinked at its bright intensity. Somewhere out in the city there were drunks who were happier than he. He had darkness as his friend, what more could a man ask for? He sighed. Much was left to be desired, after the cold night was nothing like Christina's warm hand on his shoulder. He knew she longed to rip his mask away, what woman wasn't curious about the silken mask he wore? It was as if there was a prize behind the mask, all you had to do to get it was rip the mask away. It was a horrible game that he had played all his life. Running, and hiding in the shadows. He shuddered. The looks people gave him when he did show himself. Could blatant hatred be felt in one glance? His time with the gypsies had been just this way. He was only a boy submitted to the terrors of the unknown. No kindness shown to him at anytime...  
  
A boy lay curled up in the corner of a cage, barely big enough to hold his sleeping form. A small hand lay over the left side of his face. Erik looked so innocent, so peaceful just lying there sleeping. His black hair waved around his forehead gently brushing his brow. His chest gently rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. But any one person could have known there was something was dreadfully wrong with his situation. His right knee was bandaged in a crude cloth that was soaked with dried blood. His arms were covered with black and blue bruises that were tinged with a yellowish-green coloring. His face was covered with cuts that oozed pus as if they'd been irritated so much that they'd become infected. His lips were chapped and bleeding for the lack of water. He was thin and his small ribs made grotesque appearances under his thin dirty shirt. His eyes flew open revealing intense blue orbs, though one was a bit darker than the other. He sat up as though sensing approaching danger. His hand dropped off his face showing the face which he was imprisoned for. Voices murmured in the darkness. Most of the gypsies in the encampment were already sleeping. He edged back into a darker corner of his cage. A grating noise could be heard as someone turned a key in the lock of his cage. His heart leapt! Were they letting him go? His heart plummeted to the ground as rough hands grabbed him from the cage. He willingly let them take him. What good would it do to fight them? He would just be punished more forcefully. He had not performed as they had wished today. He'd cowered in the shadows not letting paying customers get a good look at his face. He was a sideshow. That would be his profession the rest of his life if they did not let him go. They were furious with him. He could feel it in the way the men's hands shook with anger as they carried him to that familiar stake in the ground. They tied his hands to the harsh wooden stake, and ripped his shirt from his back. The bite of the whip into his flesh brought tears to his eyes, but he wouldn't let a sound escape from his mouth. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of hearing his cries of pain. He drew in a shivering sob. The cold wind made the feel of the whip's intensity grow worse. He felt hot tears surge down his face. Agony rippled through his small frame. There, they were finally done. They'd only given him five lashes this time. He supposed they thought him too weak to endure a full ten this time. Anger welled up in him. When they untied him from the stake, he ripped away from them with sudden strength they did not think he had. With his hands still bound he ran through the darkness, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His captors dashed after him, he could hear them tearing through the brushes and high grass after him. On and on they went, running in the darkness. Erik did not think he had much more strength left in him to run. Suddenly his foot found a hidden hole in the muddy ground, and he fell hard on his face and chest. The force of the crash knocked the breath out of him. He lay on the ground for what seemed like hours, panting, trying to regain oxygen to his lungs. The gypsies ran past him in the dark. He felt like he was breathing in fire into his lungs, his injuries plagued him so. His back began to sting and ache terribly. Waves of delirium passed over him. A tear rolled off his cheek and hit a muddy puddle. The only sound was his heavy breathing, and a soft patter of rain as it fell. The pain began to overwhelm him, he began to lose consciousness...  
Erik came to several hours later, still lying in the same spot hidden under a willow tree in high grass. He dug his hands into the mud. The ground was a welcome feeling after living in a cage for many years. Realization hit him full force. He was free! Then as he lay there he began to think. He might be free, but what was freedom without food, clothing, or shelter. With his face he would never find rest or a home. He would never find love... 


	34. Scars Upon the Heart

A/N: Ok I have some really bad news my laptop battery cord broke so my laptop has no battery which means no story updates at least until I get a new one! I'm so sorry! I know this is going to bum a ton (I hope) of people. But I'll try to save up for one (because their extremely expensive) but it will be a while. R&R as always! And for the record Erik's eyes are blue (Thank you to Viin who pointed that out) except his right eye is a darker blue and his left eye on his bad side of his face is a lighter misty blue...  
  
Even before she entered his home beneath the Opera House, Erik knew she was there. The soft scent of her lily perfume gave her away. He watched her for a moment before speaking. She looked so confident even with her handicap. Her blind eyes did not hinder her. Today she was dressed in a delicate pink silk with a equally blushing pink rose nestled in her hair which was piled gently atop her head.  
  
"Mon Ange," He greeted her respectfully. He watched her head turn towards the sound of his voice.  
  
"Erik," She nodded. He walked over to her, his footsteps echoing on the hard stones. She reached out her hand and he grasped it gently.  
  
"How are you this evening?" He asked softly.  
  
"Well," She smiled. It was his usual question, and she had given her usual answer. She enjoyed this familiarity with him. Though it was wearing on her that they could not get past this usual greeting, and onto something else. She enjoyed his company more than anything else. She kept her soft hand in his. Her fingers grazed against a raised scar on his wrist. She jerked back. Erik grimaced. Christina seemed to find the keys to his past more often than he wished. Now he would have to explain the story. So be it. If she wished to know the most intimate details of his life how could he refuse her when she held his heart?  
  
"How did that happen?" She breathed, timidly placing her fingers back against the scar. He sighed softly. The angel and the demon were together at last! A voice mocked in his mind.  
  
"The gypsies," He said simply. He stared behind her at a flickering candle. Oh how many times did he wish he could torture his captures with flame as they did him? The whip was not the only tool of pain they used against him when he did not show his face properly to the crowd. They tortured an innocent boy who was caged while they moved freely with evil in their hearts. He began to tell her the story and before he finished she was not the only one with tears beginning to flow from her eyes...  
  
A smell that can only be attributed to burning flesh drifted up to met Erik's nose. He struggled against the burly gypsies. He was only a small boy barely seven, trying to fight of fully grown men. They held his wrist close to the licking flames. He felt white hot searing pain shoot up his arm. He screamed in agony. Through his pain he heard one of them mutter; "Serves him right! Just look at his face!" He scoffed at Erik's face. Spittle flew from the gypsy's mouth and landed at Erik's feet. Erik's leg shot out and he manage to thrust a hard kick into the man's shin. His wrist was all at once dropped from the flames as the gypsy howled in pain. Blisters and blood intermingled into one on Erik's wrist. He hurled himself away from them, but one of them tackled him to the grass. Night was hiding their deeds from the townspeople, but even if other people did know of the abusive actions against him no one would help him. A booted foot crashed against Erik's ribs. A horrible feeling inched its way up his spine, like ice was freezing through his body. Before he blacked out from the pain he felt himself being lifted up by heavy hands and dragged back into his cage. "I hope you've learned your lesson," A gravelly voice whispered in his ear before the black mist shrouded Erik's vision...  
  
"Why would they do that to you?" Christina asked. He looked down at her. Her eyes were wide with pain.  
  
"Because they were afraid of me," Erik said softly. Christina grasped his wrist softly.  
  
"Let that haunt you now no more. I'm sure the men that were responsible died horrible deaths,"  
  
"If only I could take comfort in that," He gently tipped her chin up so that he could see her face more clearly. "If only," He whispered.  
  
"And why not," She asked oblivious to the spell she had broken. Erik let his hand drop from her face.  
  
"I can remove the memories from my mind, but I can never remove this," He said referring to his mask. "I cannot,"  
  
"I wish I could understand," She said softly. "But one can never truly comprehend the sorrows of another. If I could...I would,"  
  
"I know, Mon Ange," He whispered gazing at her tenderly. "I know," 


	35. Dark Angel's Lessons

A/N: I'm making Erik's eyes blue because that's what color they were in the musical version. I'll have to remember for my next Phantom Fiction that his eyes are yellow. Thanks to ErikaNapoleonica for giving me the information on Erik's eyes! Don't own Phantom of the Opera, but I do own poem. Oh I still don't have a battery cord, but I'm writing on a friend's laptop when their not using it. I'll try to write as much as possible, but all my files of what I had already written are on my computer, so in a sense I am kind of stalling until I can get back my files with the continuing chapters. Sorry!! R&R!  
  
Do you dare dream of what lies beneath? For what is there not even your imagination can erase The horrors of a face for which a mother's love did not comfort Pity is not enough Neither can hate wash away the remains Only love...  
  
"You seem to like spoiling the darkness of my home with your light and peaceful presence," Erik murmured at the woman standing before him. Her long brown hair lay smooth down past her waist. Her face was pale from the lack of sunlight. Her eyes shone brightly, filling his heart with tenderness.  
  
"I would never tread upon my angel's doorstep unless he asked me," She said simply.  
  
"I know," He said turning from her, and looked down into the waters of the lake. "And now that I have brought you here again, what say you?"  
  
"How cruel it is for you to live in the dismal darkness," She gently touched his shoulder.  
  
"No, how cruel of you to live in the bright light while I rot in the black night," He said slowly. The bantering was playful, and she knew he meant no harm to her.  
  
"Have you always had the love for the darkness?" She asked. He brushed a strand of hair from her face.  
  
"A man would always love darkness if he had a face like mine," He whispered. He closed his eyes as he felt her hand reach up and find his mask. She did not remove it, but tenderly laid her hand against the white silk material that made up his mask. He gently lifted her hand away, and looked into her eyes.  
  
"Please," He shook his head.  
  
"Forgive me," Christine whispered seeing his tormented face. He turned from her. And after a moment he finally spoke.  
  
"What do you see Christine?"  
  
"Water," She said hiding a smile. She enjoyed tormenting the genius with child-like answers.  
  
"Other than that," He said sweeping her a glare. She merely smiled at him.  
  
"Dark depths of your lake,"  
  
"Darkness," He nodded. He grabbed a nearby candle and bent down near the water. He placed the candle close to the water so that its light would shine into the depths. "And now what?"  
  
"The candle's light does not penetrate the darkness, I cannot see the bottom of the lake," She said. She bent down beside him to take a closer look. A strand of hair brushed against his black cape.  
  
"But yet if you fell in would you be afraid of what you could not see?"  
  
"No, because I know it just water," Christine looked at him curiously. He was teaching her a lesson of some kind. But what was it?  
  
"You would not be foolish enough to swim in waters as cold as these," He stated. She nodded in agreement still wondering what he was trying to tell her. "Just as you are not afraid of the black waters does not mean you wish to swim in them. I know you are curious about my face, but does not mean you should go looking for the answers," He said tenderly, but it was a silent warning. That was what he had been trying to tell her. He did not want her wounding him as many others before her. His mother probably instilled this fear in him. She smiled softly.  
  
"I have made that mistake once, my Angel. Do you trust me to obey you once more?"  
  
"Trust is foolish to give, but yes, I will trust you once more," He looked at her. She looked up into his eyes. They were silent blue whirlpools that had a habit of mesmerizing her.  
  
"I understand my Angel," Her words echoed in Erik's mind. Erik felt himself drifting out of his dreams and into reality. He opened his eyes. It had been only a dream. She had seemed so real, her touch had been so warm. A strange feeling washed over him, it wasn't loss, it wasn't even remorse. It was peace. He sat up. Candles burned dimly in the blackness. He slowly walked over to his organ not wishing to play, but just to see something familiar. He left his hand drift over the ivory keys. Tenderly he felt the soft wood beneath his fingers.  
  
"It has just been you and I my friend for many years," He whispered. "But no longer..." 


	36. Lingering Questions

A/N: Still no battery cord (sighs) but I will get it soon, perhaps tomorrow. Thanks for the reviews! They are all so encouraging. Just remember to be honest I need to know if you don't like something, but if you like it, great! I've been thinking of some new Phan fics I could possibly write. I'll keep you all updated on that. Oh and I hope you'll forgive me, it's late, 11:45 P.M. and I'm just now finishing this chapter (busy day!) (Yawns)...anyways R&R...  
  
"Ancient and magnificent isn't it," Erik gazed up into the great cavern above him. Christina did not comment, for what could she add? "Not many people know that on the ceiling of the underground are paintings done by famous painters from France," He turned to look at her, his face etched with pride. Then he realized she probably wasn't impressed. She couldn't see the high arched ceiling with the intimate detailing on the columns that supported it. He grasped her hand gently and pulled her over to where a column stood. He pressed her hand against it so she could feel the grandness for herself. "Better?" He asked. Her smile widened.  
  
"I thought no one would understand," She breathed. "It is good that someone finally does,"  
  
"Understand what Mon petit Ange?" He asked, even though he fully understood what she had been trying to communicate. He had wished for that same understanding all his life.  
  
"My blindness has been a source of teasing and misunderstanding for years, but then you know what I mean," She said bitterly. He looked at her sharply. He'd never heard her speak in such a way before.  
  
"Why the anger? Just because you have blind eyes doesn't mean there is anything else wrong with you," He asked gently.  
  
"Most feel that there is something wrong. Just like a lame horse or a one eyed hunting hound, they throw you away with the rest of the trash,"  
  
"That is not the truth,"  
  
"What is the truth, Erik?" She asked softly.  
  
"I...I don't know," He smiled down at her. "For once I don't know,"  
  
"At least you're honest," Her hand slid away from the column and she reached out trying to find him. She brushed his shoulder with her hand feeling the black cloth of his cloak.  
  
"You forget what the world thinks about you down here," He glanced around at the familiar sights. The vast lake rippled in the eerie glow of the candle light, the boat that was tied to a wooden post at the small dock swayed along with the rhythm.  
  
"Until the world finds you down here," She said. He looked down into her worried eyes.  
  
"They'll never find me," He comforted.  
  
"How can you be certain?" She asked anxiously. He had committed murders, if they ever found him they would kill him without question.  
  
"I have ways to protect my self, Love," He ran his fingers light through a blond curl that rested on her shoulder. "I am not as weak as some think,"  
  
"I never thought you were weak,"  
  
"No?" He asked a bemused smile crossed his lips. "Well then...," He trailed off still smiling at her confession. An uncomfortable silence settled among them. Erik had never had trouble with silence before. He enjoyed it, but now he felt as if he needed to never let silence reign down in the underground again. He looked at her. She was also casting about for something to say. He could see it on her face clearly by the dim lighting of the candles. She was biting her lip. He almost laughed at her child-like expression. How she looked like Christine in that instant!  
  
"I heard that you know the original architect of this Opera House," Christine interrupted his thoughts. He sighed. Now silence had been banished.  
  
"Know of him? I wake up in his body every morning, Mon Ange,"  
  
"Than it is true, you were the main architect,"  
  
"Yes, I contributed much more time and effort than some of the others who were helping to plan this building. I prefer working alone," He smiled slowly. "But I designed all of the secret entrances and this," He looked out over the lake. "I gave excuses that the secret entrances would be put to good use by stagehands, and divas. Then when this place was built I burnt the original plans so that only the architects and I would know about it. They died unfortunately," His smile flickered for an instant. Those deaths had been of his doing, but that was in his past now. Never again would he murder. He looked back at Christina who stood there so trustingly listening to him. He wished he could show her the truth about himself. He had this aching feeling that would not leave. Like his journey through life with his face would never cease to be haunted until he did give in and take peace. When would he truly reveal what was behind his mask to her? The question gnawed at his heart... 


	37. Show Me the Answers

A/N: I don't own POTO. Back by popular demand (a.k.a loyal reviewer demand), the dream sequence! Ok about the fountain that Christina's sitting on. I don't know how to describe it, it's like that town square fountain in the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast, except a bit more elaborate (No, no there isn't going to be a POTO and BATB crossover) (the Beast skips merrily into the picture singing be our guest...lol) By the way I have a very busy weekend, so I don't know when I'll be able to update again. Ok enough A/N stuff! On to the romance...  
  
There she was. Erik watched her quietly stir the waters of the fountain with her fingers. Christina had not noticed him as he studied her in the shadows. She was sitting on the ledge of the wide fountain in her dreams once more. He lowered his eyes. He knew she would soon find him out that he was weary and unsettled. She was too perceptive for her own good. He smiled softly at the thought. He was preoccupied. His mind was filled of thoughts of when he was a child. His mask had been a friend, a flimsy shield, but at least it offered protection. He glanced back over at the woman who embodied grace, and kindness. A curl fell across her face as she bent down close to the water. Even though she was blind and the silky hair did not hinder her vision it was still a nuisance. Her lips parted in a contented smile. Erik sighed. He felt that if he was ever to be truly honest with her he must show her his face. He'd rather show it to her by his own free-will rather than her rip it away. He finally stepped from the shadows, and slowly began to approach her. The left side of his face covered by his mask was shadowed in the dark lighting of twilight.  
  
Christina gazed about her. She had never noticed her surroundings where their meetings took place in her dreams. She was in a large square in a small deserted town. It looked as if she was in the countryside of France. Stars appeared. Like little diamonds they twinkled from the deep blue velvety sky. She was alone, for now. A cool breeze played with her curls lifting them slightly off her shoulders. She savored the feeling of the silky waters rushing over her hand as she trailed in the fountain. What an utterly delicious feeling. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the movement of shadows. Erik emerged from them. She smiled, but as her eyes drifted over his familiar appearance she was startled at seeing his haggard features. Why did he look so tired? She was thankful she could see him in her dreams. She would never have known how dark his blue eyes looked because he was so weary. "It's so beautiful here,"  
  
"I'm glad it pleases you," He smiled. He pulled off his black cape and let it slide to the cobblestone ground.  
  
"How did you know I would be here?" She asked.  
  
"I just knew,"  
  
"The night greets us with its beauty," She gazed up at the stars.  
  
"I need not look up to see beauty," He whispered looking intensely at her. She started and met his gaze. A soft pink blush crept up her cheeks.  
  
"I find heavenly beauty lovelier than mere mortal appearance," She looked down at her hands.  
  
"I agree, Mon Ange," He smiled. She was an angel. She must be. Her beauty was so great. All she was missing was her wings, but that could be found in her voice. For her voice lifted him up as if on angel's wings.  
  
"Erik," She shook her head. The blush was becoming more intense. He turned her face gently towards him with his thumb.  
  
"Never look down as if you are sorry for such a gift,"  
  
"Yes Erik," She said softly. Erik gazed deeply into her eyes. He leaned forward as if he was going to kiss her. She wanted to run. Not now! She didn't want to ever hurt him. What if he kissed her, gave his all to her, and then she broke his heart? Her own heart fluttered in fear. He drew nearer to her, his hands finding her shoulders. She closed her eyes against the anxiety. She felt his lips brush against her cheek. It was such a soft gentle kiss against her silky skin. She trembled at his touch. As he drew back he looked into her eyes. He was startled to find not pleasure, but fear.  
  
"Mon Ange, what is wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, but a fool's anxiety," She murmured. "I...I don't want to break your heart,"  
  
"What do you mean?" His look became guarded.  
  
"I was worried that you were going to kiss me," She looked away. How dare her! She was hurting him, and she could see it in his eyes.  
  
"Do you not wish me to kiss you?"  
  
"No! I mean...yes," She gazed up at him shyly. "I want you to kiss me," The stern look on Erik's face dissolved into a gentler look. "But, I don't want you to kiss me until you know...that you want to kiss me," She almost closed her eyes. How mumbled her thought process was! She wasn't making sense! How she longed to connect with him, to know that he truly understood what she was trying to communicate to him.  
  
"I understand," Erik said. He did understand. She did not want him to give all of himself to her until he truly knew that he loved her. But he did love her! He showed that he loved her in every caress of her cheek with his fingers, and in every touch of his hand against her palm. She also was trying to sort out her feelings for him. Christina knew that she loved Erik, but she did not want to repeat the past, her grandmother's past. Would some dashing young man come and sweep her off her feet and carry her off in the heat of the moment. No. Christina's love for him ran deeper than any flighty lover's passion. Christina looked closely at him, happy she could at least see him for a moment in her dreams. He looked sad, resigned, and weary. She reached out and softly touched his shoulder. "What's troubling you Erik?"  
  
"Nothing my dear," He absentmindedly brushed a curl away from her face. He withdrew his hand when he suddenly realized what he was doing.  
  
"Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes," She said slowly gazing deeply into his eyes. "Please don't keep whatever it is from me,"  
  
"I don't want to you to worry about me, Mon Rose," He whispered.  
  
"But I...," She started to say, but was silenced by a small shake of Erik's head.  
  
"Please, do not ask me," He said softly. His face! How he longed to be done with his mangled cheek. But he would never be rid of it.  
  
"I must! For I fear you will go mad if you do not release this tension that fills you. I feel it haunts you," She said pleadingly. She clasped his hand in hers. His hand was rough, but warm in her silky palm. "It does haunt me," He whispered, but then after a moment he straightened as if waving the issue away. He released his hand from hers.  
  
"This is about your face," Christina said softly. She had found him out. The fears about his mask were now more than just undercurrent. They had come to the surface.  
  
"Christina," He warned. She tried not to shrink back, but she did. His tone was so cold, so void of emotion. It frightened her when he talked that way.  
  
"Please, I know you think of me as a dainty rose Erik, but I long to help you rid yourself of this constant fear that I will rip away something you wish to show me yourself,"  
  
"You are so innocent and pure I dare not," He turned from her.  
  
"What is holding you back?"  
  
"I..." He opened his mouth, but then shook his head. He did not turn to face her as he spoke. She sat in a tortured silence for many moments. "It cannot be helped," He whispered. "My mask will always stand between us, for I dare not show you what lies beneath for fear you will desert me as so many others have,"  
  
"Erik" She said finally. He shook his head again as if it was useless. "Erik," She murmured. She placed her hand against his good cheek and turned his face towards her. She weighed her next thought for a moment. For whatever she said would be imprinted in time forever more. It could be her destruction or her peace. "I...I love you," She finally whispered. Erik backed away slowly a disbelieving look on his face. His breath was taken from him, and he fought for control over his emotions. He dared not say anything afraid that the moment would disappear forever. His muscles quivered as if exhausted. His mind whirled with possibilities of what he might have heard her say. He stared at her standing there across from him. She loved him? A monster? A demon from hell? She loved him? He trembled. Love. It was a curious word. It had not been spoken in his presence, for who could love a mangled face? He'd not received it from his mother, or any other woman. And now he was loved. It was a strange feeling to love and have the love returned. It was as though he had stepped from cold harsh winter into the waiting warm arms of summer. She loved him... 


	38. Point of No Return

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I hope that because this chapter is so long that it makes it up to you guys! I hate to say this, but I'm almost done with this story!! I believe I only have maybe one chapter left after this one. After I have completed it, I will go back through and perfect everything. R&R!!  
  
The dream dissolved around Christina, and she found herself back in her bedroom, blind once again. Tears ran down her face. Erik had left her. She saw the emotions running over his shadowed face one by one. Her words had undone the tight coils in his heart, and now had released emotion that had built up for forty years. Hot tears continued to rush down her face. Her fingers felt up to grasp the chain around her neck, Erik's ring hung on it. He'd abandoned her! In her anger she almost ripped the chain from her neck, but instead she smoothed her thumb over the ring's soft gold. Erik needed time to think. She'd give him till tonight to sort out his feelings, even though she knew in her heart that it would take years for him to do that. She lay her head back down into the comforting presence of her feather pillow and fell back asleep...  
  
"I can't," Erik spoke to the silence. "I can't" He had not even dealt with it or even dared to think of it when he was remembering his horror filled past. His mask and horrible face was always a subject he tried not to think about. He felt so weak. Where had the strength gone? He had nothing to fear from Christina. But how terrible and wretched was his face! He could not show it to her. But, he thought with a dark half smile, that the inevitable would occur with or without his assistance. Somehow fate would help his mask to come off. He had been haunted by a mask for his entire life why should that change now?  
  
Christina awoke with a tiny sigh escaping her lips. She sat up and brushed her fingers through her thick blonde hair. It was a tangled mass of curls now. She got up carefully out of bed, and felt around for her robe. When she found it she pulled it on over her nightgown. Her next carefully placed steps took her to her vanity table. Her thoughts were tumbling around in her head, out of control. Relief had poured through when she had finally admitted her love for Erik, but what had flooded through his mind when she had uttered those words? She sat down in front of the mirror. A sad smile crept over her lips. What good was a mirror if you were blind? She felt around for her brush to help rid herself of the knots in her hair. Her fingers came in contact with the withered rose. She shrank back at the feel of the thorns. Then ever so slowly she reached back and grasped it gently. It was brittle with the lack of water, and most of the petals were gone, yet the scent still hung around it. The heavenly aroma met her senses. She was having doubts about visiting him tonight. What if he said those words which she was dreading most of all? "I do not love you," Those words held finality, and she dreaded them.  
  
"Go to him," A voice in her mind whispered. "If you love him, go to him!"  
  
"I can't" She whispered. "What if he doesn't love me?" She voiced her fear. The voice in her head remained silent. Her heart was heavy with grief. "No," She shook her head. "I can't" She repeated softly.  
  
"Than you do not love him." The voice mocked her. Christina's fingers tightened around the rose, the thorns dug themselves into her tender flesh. Drops of blood fell on her white nightgown and robe. She didn't notice. Her mind wasn't focused on the rose, she was thinking about Erik. A sad resigned look came about her, and she slowly stood, dropping the rose to the ground. If she loved him she would go to him. Well she did love him...  
  
Anxious footsteps resounded on the stone floor. The sound met Erik's ears. He lifted himself from the floor, his black cape billowing around him. He reached up and made sure his mask was secure. He fled back into the shadows. He hadn't paid attention to his usual methods of discovering who had entered his domain. He cursed. His eyes watched the entrance waiting for the intruder to appear. A small petite figure entered the shadows. He let himself breath once more. Christina. He watched her for a moment before revealing himself to her. She wore a midnight blue dress, its sleeves were trimmed in lace, and a cloak was draped across her shoulders. Her hair was hanging free down her back, it was brushed so that the silky curls shone in the dim candlelight  
  
"Erik," She called out softly.  
  
"Mon Ange," He spoke. His voice revealed nothing that he felt. So many emotions were whirling around inside of him. He stepped from the shadows and faced her. He was not able to go close to her. Her presence was too pure, too loving. Christina moved towards the sound of his voice.  
  
"You left me," Her voice was shaking with the fact that he had betrayed her. He closed his eyes against the pain.  
  
"Forgive me, I did not wish to hurt you..." He whispered.  
  
"I am in agony over you Erik. I'm so confused," She shook her head. Her eyes revealed the pain she felt in her heart. "You pull me close, and then you push me away,"  
  
"Forgive me," He repeated his voice was hoarse with emotion.  
  
"I already have, my love," She said softly. "Throw away your mask Erik, you don't need to hide any longer!"  
  
"No," He turned.  
  
"Love is stronger than the hatred you endured,"  
  
"Christina," He warned. His voice was filled with longing. If only what she said was so simple. "I cannot,"  
  
"Please Erik. Let it go! Let the past die," It was her final plea. She cared him to much to let him suffer alone. He drew in a deep emotion filled breath, and looked at her. His eyes were filled with darkness. He did not speak. The silence lasted for what seemed like years.  
  
"Do you really want her to see your face? Do you want her to see that you are a horrible demon?" A voice whispered in Erik's mind.  
  
"She said she would love me even though I have a deformity," Erik said to himself. So the battle for control had begun. Would he let fear continue to reign?  
  
"Do you believe her? You believed Christine would never harm you and then look what happen...she betrayed you!"  
  
"She betrayed me," Erik repeated to himself. "But that was long ago. The past will not be repeated through Christina,"  
  
"How do you know that?" For that question Erik had no answer. "I see," The voice whispered. "She will betray you as so many before you have! The past will repeat itself! You are a twisted beast! You are not fit to touch her! Show her your face and she will run from you! For what angel wants to be with a demon from hell!"  
  
"No!" Erik whispered aloud. "No," He sank to the ground. Christina rushed over to find him, hearing him fall.  
  
"Erik, what's wrong?" She finally found him and sank down next to him. He was shaking and crying. His face was buried in his hands. "Oh my love," She said softly. She grasped shoulder gently. "Don't cry my love," Tears were beginning to fall from her own eyes. "Don't cry," Listening to a once powerful man break down was horrible to listen to. She felt helpless to comfort him. She held him for many moments. She leaned her head against his shoulder, still feeling his body shake with sobs. His heart was in pieces and she felt helpless to pick them up. How could she help him? "Erik, look at me," She said finally. He did not move. "Please," She whispered. "Look at me," He raised his head from his hands. She could feel his eyes on her. She clumsily reached up and unclasped the necklace from around her neck. The chain and ring fell into her hand. She let the chain slide to the floor. The ring glittered in her palm, its gold shone in the glow of the candlelight. She slid it onto her ring-finger.  
  
"What are you doing?" He whispered hoarsely as he watched her with mounting horror and pain. Why was she binding herself to him? Was it just out of pity? The ring looked lovely on her finger. She couldn't even see how beautiful it looked. How beautiful...she looked. His heart couldn't take much more of this.  
  
"I love you Erik, and you don't seem to understand or comprehend it. What must I do, my love? To show you that I will never leave you? Do you want me to give a blood oath?" She smiled darkly. A curl fell across her shoulder. Her blind eyes shone with love and passion for him.  
  
"Oh Christina," He said softly. "I need no blood oath to confirm what I see in your eyes,"  
  
"Something still haunts you Erik," She spoke softly. Her eyes betrayed that she knew his secret. He wondered how many times did Christine tell Christina the detail of his face. How many times did she whisper of the sight of every crack, every crevice, and freakish horror of the left side of his skull? "Your mask haunts you,"  
  
"No, it is what lies beneath the mask, Mon Ange," He sad sadly. "I was born with it at birth and I shall take it with me to my grave,"  
  
"Even a rose has its thorns," She replied.  
  
"Christine said that once," He said his eyes grew slightly misty.  
  
"She said it often," Christina smiled thoughtfully. "Especially when she recalled tales of her teacher, the Angel of Music,"  
  
"Her "Angel" was just a man with the face of a demon," He shook his head. "I fell in love. And to this day I regret leading her through the threshold of my heart," Christina remained silent as he spoke. She was captured by the far-away sound in his voice. "She ripped away my mask and in the process she broke my heart," A silence filled the underground room. Erik gazed at Christina. She was so trusting, he hated to frighten her with his twisted face. If her love was as steadfast as she claimed she would never leave, even once he revealed his face to her. "Oh Christina," He sighed. "I suppose...I must. I will remove my mask...," He whispered. He felt her warm fingers travel up his shoulder and come to rest on the right side of his face. The warm silkiness her palm gave off seemed to give him strength. He prayed she would not leave him, for he could not bear another betrayal. Whatever was going to happen, Erik knew in his heart that this was exactly as he had murmured in song to Christine many years ago, this was The Point of No Return... 


	39. Unmasked

A/N: The Point of No Return has arrived. I hope it fulfills everyone's expectations, but since that is never the case, I hope it at least comes close. Enjoy...  
  
Erik and Christina made quite a sight, they were both still sitting on the floor where Erik had fallen only minutes before. She was sure her dress was covered in thick layers of dust and dirt, but she did not care. She was leaning close to Erik, as if supporting him and holding him up with her mere presence. Erik's mind was ablaze with fear, it was though flames of anxiety were constantly leaping up and dousing and peace he had. She would leave him, he felt that her replies of faithfulness were just lies. He was painfully aware of that fact. Christine had betrayed him, wouldn't Christina do the same. Once he was unmasked there was nothing standing between his heart and inevitable rejection. Erik's fingers trembled as he slowly slipped the mask off. Tension filled the room. A cold draft of air his face. The cool air tickled the sensitive skin like a feather. He looked down at the woman standing before him. He'd thought before long ago that she was blind and could not hurt him if she screamed, but now she was the women of his heart. It would rip him literally in two if she even did as much as whimper. He breathed, practically having to force his lungs to perform. Erik tried to clear his mind. He looked into her eyes, they were wide. He stared at her hands, they were trembling.  
  
"Don't be frightened...Mon Ange," He said. It was more of a plea than a request. "Dear mercy, don't scream" He begged silently.  
  
He gently grasped her soft hand in his, and lifted it up ever so slowly to his face. He flinched as her fingers came in contact with his cheek. He cursed the fact that he was the owner of the hellish brand. He closed his eyes not willing to see her reaction. He heard her breath rush from her as she touched his mangled cheek. What she must think of him at this moment. "Monster! Demon! Beast! Your hands are not fit to touch her!" Those thoughts echoed through his dark mind. He struggled against them, trying to think of other things. Anything would be better than this. He'd rather hang himself than reduce her to having to feel his twisted face. Her silky fingers moved over his cheek with soft precision.  
  
"Wicked creature of the shadows!" The voice whispered in his mind. He wanted to shout back at the voice in his head, but he resigned himself to silence. Her fingers touched his forehead. The damaged skin was worse there. He cringed, he knew that the left side of his face felt like the skin of a corpse. He felt like he was something dead, patched together to make a living being. At least that was how he looked to the world. A living breathing monster of the depths. All the screams and exclamations at his face from the past filled his mind with a giant cacophony of noise. His mother's screams of terror were the loudest in his mind.  
He opened his eyes to give her a tortured glance. Her eyes stayed closed for what good would they do her? A single diamond of a tear lingered on her lashes. She was biting her lip so hard she drew a tiny droplet of blood. Her hand dropped to her side once more. Christina was trembling uncontrollably now, her body shook with screams of anguish, but she dared not let one sound escape her lips. It would kill Erik to hear her scream in terror. He grasped her shoulders gently.  
  
"Mon ange, I know it is horrible," He whispered his voice coarse with emotions. "Forgive me I should not have showed you," She shook her head ever so slightly as if she was disagreeing with him. She lifted both of her hands to his face and cupped them so that his chin rested in her soft palms. She leaned closer to him and slowly placed a kiss on his marred cheek. A tear slipped from his eyes and fell against her hands.  
  
"Don't cry," She whispered. He gathered his wits enough to realize something.  
  
"Leave me. You deserve better than this," He said bitterly drawing back away from her. She should not be here with him.  
  
"I will never leave you,"  
  
"You need someone who can give you a better life than underground in a dark hole with man who has a face of a monster,"  
  
"I don't want anything else," She said softly. Her head leaned closer to his.  
  
"Yes you do," He said. He could smell her sweet rose perfume as she drew closer to him. Her fingers once again found his face. This was his undoing. He couldn't let her give her love to him...she couldn't give her heart to him. She deserved so much better. He stared at her. Her love was clear, it was written on her face and in her eyes. He finally gave up the struggle to keep a barrier around himself. He placed his hand against her palm on his cheek, and leaned closer to her. Her lips found his. Such passion and love had never been shown in a kiss before. His lips had never felt such softness before. His body trembled with human contact. A peaceful sensation swept up from his soul. He lingered, his lips on hers for many moments. Finally his hand captured her chin, and he slowly drew away from her. On her lips was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen her give him. She slowly leaned towards him to kiss him again, suddenly he realized he was unmasked. Even though she had already felt his face against her skin he did not want her have to endure the sensation of touching a corpse ever again. He reached for his mask. He began to place it back on when Christina place her hand on his, her fingers brushed the white material of his mask.  
  
"No," She whispered and gently took the mask from him. She smiled at him tenderly. Her blind eyes shone with passion. "You'll never need to wear that again," She leaned back in and captured him in another kiss. The mask lay forgotten the floor...  
  
A/N: I don't believe in putting THE END at the end of a story. I feel like Erik and Christina's love will never end even after they die. This is just the beginning chapter of the rest of their lives... 


	40. A Sad Farewell But Not For Long!

A Sad Farewell...But not for long!   
  
A/N: I loved being able to write this story. I hope you all enjoyed the ending. I tried hard to capture the spirit and passion that the character of Erik needs to survive in our Phantom FanFiction world. I loved shaping Erik and Christina's characters. Well anyways...An idea has been forming in my head; a new Phantom story is being shaped. I'm going to try a Christine/Erik story! But I'm going to have to take a little break to perfect it. I am seeing how many flames everyone has been getting. Thank- you for all the reviews, good and bad! Thank-you to my dedicated readers; megumisakura

ErikaNapoleonica

Blackrosegirl

Viin

Queen of hearts 8

Erikorlando'sgirl/carlye

Volven

Sparrowgurl66

jmajere

Pendragon Sedai

Shadow's Chaos

Ana

LoneGunGirl88

RubyMoon2

Nicole

SKYwalker-BLUE

Lady Laran

Irene

Heather

Mystery Guest

Linzy Potter

Lavender Morilinde

Catherine Morland

(Thank you to my friends Alexis, Erin, Racheybella, and JC who did not review my story but offered their support!)  
  
Goodbye until my next story! Your Obedient Friend and Angel,  
  
BlueBeauty


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